


Between the Stone and Surf

by swamppopsoda



Category: RWBY
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Mild Angst, Ozpin adopting Oscar: buy one son get one moral compass free, RWBY au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28889913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swamppopsoda/pseuds/swamppopsoda
Summary: Oscar knows his job: keep the beacon of the lighthouse lit. Guide the wandering ships home and weather every storm. For five years he has done this job by himself, bound to the lighthouse by duty and rooted to his lonely hilltop by fear and uncertainty. He had resigned himself to this hermit's life, with only the wind and the birds for company.Until a strange man with seafoam hair washes up on the shore. Bringing with him magic, lies, and for Oscar, the opportunity to be something more than the keeper of the beacon.A quick side project of a Lighthouse AU I thought up at work and immediately got way too invested way too fast
Relationships: Ozpin & Oscar Pine
Comments: 35
Kudos: 79





	1. The Child of the Beacon

There was a storm coming. Even though the sky was bright and clear, Oscar could feel the beginnings of one. He could feel it in his bones. There was an underlying frenzy to the wind as well. One that scratched his ears and gnawed at his exposed skin whenever the breeze whipped itself into an agitated gust. The puffins could feel it too. Leaning forward slightly to peer over the edge of the cliff, Oscar could see them all flying in from the open sea, beaks full and wings beating to the chorus of the waves that crashed far below.

There was low brassy noise at Oscar’s elbow, and he looked down to see one of the puffins there, head tilted slightly to the side as if to say, _“What you are doing out here?”_

“Hey Carolina, what’s got you up here?” Oscar leaned back, giving the puffin room to jump into his lap if she wanted.

Carolina let out another breathy honking noise that puffins made, and gently butted her head against Oscar’s leg.

“So you can feel the storm coming too, huh?” Oscar looked out at the ocean. The sky and water were both clear and smooth as glass as far as the horizon.

There was another nudge, this time on Oscar’s other leg, and he looked down to see another puffin with a very recognizable jagged scratch down it’s beak.

“Hello to you too, Sarge. Fishing been any good lately?”

Sarge let out a loud call and flapped into Oscar’s lap before promptly knocking his head against Oscar’s chest.

“Sheesh, everybody’s on edge today. You guys want me to go home?”

Both puffins grunted at him.

“Alright. I trust your judgement.” Oscar stood, scooping Sarge up with him, and took a step back from the cliff. Sarge settled comfortably into his arms and Carolina flew up to perch awkwardly on his head.

Oscar laughed, “Walking me back huh? Thanks you two.”

With one sea bird nestled comfortably in his arms and one pooled warmly on his head, Oscar followed the narrow path that wound between the hissing sedges and tall grasses.

Home was never further than a glance for Oscar. He could see it wherever he went. A tall white lighthouse at the top of a hill that jutted slightly out into the sea; overlooking the coast both to the south and the north. As he reached the crest of the hill the rest of what quantified ‘home’ came into view.

A small, two story cottage attached to the base of the lighthouse, a leaning shed with a door that didn't close properly, and a lush garden that took up a good acre of the hilltop.

Oscar turned around to look down from his vantage point. Far away at the bottom of the hill and then almost another two miles up the coast, was Wind Path. A large, thriving coastal town that had one of the larger ports this area of the kingdom. Oscar watched as another large ship slowly pulled into the docks. If he listened, really listened on days when the wind was calm, he could hear the bells and shouts of sailors, and the creaking of the wood of the ships as they ground to a halt.

Sarge ruffled his feathers in Oscar’s arms and Oscar released his hold enough for him to hop down.

“Alright. I’m home now. I need to go put the garden down. Thank you for walking me back.”

Carolina rubbed her beak along Oscar’s ear before launching herself off his head and flying back down to the area of the cliffs that the puffins had claimed. With one last angry sounding grunt directed at Oscar, Sarge took off after her. Even though Oscar couldn’t speak puffin, he got the command.

_“Stay home until the storm has passed.”_

Oscar lazily saluted at the shrinking silhouettes of the birds, “Message received loud and clear, Sarge.”

He waited until he couldn’t see them anymore before turning back to his lighthouse. As he approached the front door, he could see a basket with a bright purple cloth covering its contents, sitting on the front steps of the cottage.

“Neat, mail.” Oscar scooped up the basket and shouldered into the house. Inside was as simple as the outside led one to believe. Immediately inside the door was the kitchen area with a large woodstove pushed up against the left wall and a small wooden table in the middle of the space. Rows of crooked cabinets lined the walls beneath the windows, their tops littered with tools, baskets, and miscellaneous kitchenware. A staircase on the opposite wall led up to the second floor which was just two bedrooms. Oscar only needed one. Beneath the stairs was a door that led to the small washroom built onto the back of the house. An old, faded couch sat near the fireplace that was built into the far right wall. A small bookcase next to the door held a collection of dusty books, twisted driftwood, smooth stones, and colorful shells that Oscar had picked up over the years. A motley collection of woven rugs in different colors, styles, and states of wear, were layered across the stone floor.

Yep. Home.

Oscar placed the basket on the table and pulled off the purple kerchief and began to pull out the contents. The purple baskets were always the best. He had seen the lady who brought them once. She looked scary, with her high collared, royally colored travel dress and hair that remained perfectly pinned even in the perpetual ocean breeze. But she always brought Oscar cool stuff, so he decided he liked her.

This time was no exception. With a rare, giddy smile, Oscar pulled out the contents one by one. A small pouch full of chewy caramels and taffies. A blueberry muffin wrapped in shiny paper and covered in large chunks of sugar. A small bottle of lavender oil. Several bright, plump oranges. A jar of strawberry jam. Several sticks of cinnamon. Jars of loose-leaf tea that smelled fruity. A dark green knitted scarf that was very soft. And several other generic food items that Oscar was quick to tuck away into their respective cupboards.

After wrapping the scarf around his neck, he tucked a couple of the candies into his pocket and headed out into the garden.

Oscar liked the purple lady. She always brought him nice stuff. Most of the townspeople just brought him essentials. Food, firewood, oil and kerosene for the lighthouse, and clothes. Often the clothes were handmade, which he appreciated, but that also meant that no one ever got the size right. And since he couldn’t really wear the things that were too small, he often ended up drowning in the large knit sweaters that were sent to him. 

Oscar sucked on one of the caramels and checked the sky again. In the distance he could see the faintest beginnings of a grey overcast. He’d have to make this quick. He tugged off his gloves exposing the strange, refracting patterns on his hands that were lighter than the rest of his skin. In a well-rehearsed path he walked around the rows of vegetables and herbs in his garden. He touched every plant; brushing against leaves, stems, and roots and muttering quiet reassurances.

“Hey, there’s a storm coming. Hold fast, okay? Watch out for the winds, bend but don’t break. Close your flowers, there is harsh rain coming and you’ll need every petal. Don’t let your fruits drop, there is still time yet before they’re ripe. You’re growing so well! I’m sure this rain will be just what you need.”

With each gentle command, he could feel the magic in him flow down and off his fingers like water. It dripped into the plants and cast a wide protective spell over the entire plot.

By the time Oscar finally finished making his rounds, the patterns on his hands had turned a pale, greenish silver and looked to be shifting in the light. What light there was left, that is. The storm had shown itself. The sky was shrouded in grey and Oscar could see a much lower, much darker, layer of clouds sweeping in from the open ocean to the west.

He pulled his gloves on just as the first gales of the storm front began to assault him. They howled in his ears and pulled his hair at the roots. His eyes felt dry and he made a dash for the leaning shed near the house. He gathered as much firewood as he could carry before slamming the shed shut and practically falling through the door to the house. Inside was dark. He dropped his stack of firewood next to the door and pulled his gloves off once more. Magic pooled in his hands as his marks began to shift and glow faintly. It wasn’t very bright, and the light they shed on the walls looked remarkably similar to the light the waves would cast on the sandy bottom of the ocean. But at the very least he could see enough to set up a few lamps and candles. He threw some logs into the wood stove before grabbing one of the emptier bottles of oil for the lighthouse beacon.

There was a small door built into the corner where the front and left walls met. Oscar pushed it open and walked through the breeze way that connected the house to the lighthouse. He had pulled off his scarf in the house and he could feel a cool sensation on his skin as his neck glowed slightly as well, lighting his way up the spiraling stairs and throwing more underwater lights onto the walls.

When he stepped out onto the landing of the beacon the winds immediately started to pull and push him this way and that. Like he was a ship at sea and they the great angry swells whose hunger knew no mercy.

Oscar held up one hand to shield his eyes, “Cut it out! I have a job to do!”

The wind around the beacon receded and then vanished completely as a bubble of magic deflected the winds away from Oscar’s work.

“Thank you,” he quickly started working to get the beacon set up for the storm. Luckily, he had changed the wicks and cleaned the lenses the day before. It was just a matter of making sure the light was bright and strong for the long night ahead.

“Beautiful,” he closed the glass panes and placed a glowing hand on the beacon when he had finished, “Make sure everyone makes it home safe, okay? You’re going to do great. We can weather out this storm together.”

Immediately the flame responded to the trickle of magic Oscar had fed it. It flared and then held. Oscar smiled before ducking back down into the safety of the lighthouse, releasing the spell he had been holding.

A wave of exhaustion pulled at his limbs for a moment as he stood at the top of the stairs breathing heavily, “Okay. I think it’s food time.”

His voice echoed hollowly in the empty tower. 

The cottage was pleasantly warmed from the woodstove when he closed the breeze way door. Rain was falling in sheets outside now as well. It lashed against the windows and darkened the stones that hung from the thatched roof.

Oscar ignored the bluster of the storm and started rummaging through his cupboards, looking for something filling. Bread, bread, cheese, some dried roots, more bread, more vegetables.

He sighed, “Looks like another bread sandwich for dinner tonight.”

After placing a couple slices of bread on the wood stove to toast, he took the remainder of the firewood to stoke the sleepy coals in the fireplace.

Oscar wished someone would send up some good cut meat. But meat was a special thing. They only sent that up during times of plenty or celebration. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate what they did send. He did. But he also knew why they did it. After Oscar’s parents had died several years earlier, he hadn’t left the lighthouse. And no one had come up to claim him. With nothing else to do, Oscar kept the light going by himself. The townsfolk didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t cause any trouble and he kept the light going. So to them, there was no reason for him not to stay there.

He had only been a boy when his parents had died. And the town knew that. So they started sending baskets. Anywhere from twice to five times a week, baskets would appear on Oscar’s doorstep bearing the things he needed to keep going. There was never a knock to signal a basket’s arrival. Never a called greeting or a friendly wave.

Once Oscar had gone down to town to buy some supplies himself with what little money his parents had left. He was lonely; he wanted to see the town that he so often watched from his distant hilltop and remembered from his younger days. But that trip was when he finally heard the whispers. The gossip and the rumors. People could see the marks on his neck. On his hands. They knew he had magic in his veins. They thought he was cursed; haunted.

Oscar hadn’t gone back to town after that. He stayed in his lighthouse. He hid the marks on his hands with his gloves and the ones on his neck with torn up strips of cloth, even though there was no one around to see them. The baskets continued to appear. No one came to take him away. So Oscar kept the light lit. What else could he do?

The faint smell of something burning signaled that his bread was more than done and with careful fingers he snatched them off the stove. After a moment’s contemplation, he cracked open the jar of strawberry jam the purple lady had given him and spread it across the toast. He put the slices onto a plate next to a wedge of cheese and some snap peas he had picked from the garden earlier.

He settled down in front of the fire, munching on his toast and looked out at the impenetrable curtain of rain and wind that continued to rage outside.

“I pity any poor bastard caught out in that,” he murmured to the fire, which crackled in response.

He hoped the puffins were okay. He’d have to go check on them tomorrow.

The strawberry jam was sweet on Oscar’s tongue as he licked it off his magic-branded fingers, “I wonder if I’ll ever get to meet Purple Lady. I’d like to thank her for all the neat stuff she’s given me.”

Outside, a rock kicked against the side of the house with a loud _crack._

Oscar sighed and grabbed the multicolored quilt that was bundled up on one side of the couch. He put his plate down on the floor and curled up on his side, facing the fire, “I wonder how the people in town are doing.”

Silently, he wondered if any of them worried about him. If they looked out at the light at the top of the hill and thought about how he was faring. Maybe they were thinking of things to bring him when the storm was over. Maybe they would bring him meat, and candy, and new cups because all his old ones were chipped and cracked.

Oscar rolled onto his back and pushed himself up to lean against the arm of the couch. The fire warmed one side of his face as a sourceless draft cooled the other. His gaze traced the familiar shadows of the house before finding its way into the storm outside.

He knew they weren’t thinking about him. Not beyond hoping their loved ones would be able to follow his light back anyways. There was no one left to care for the boy who kept the light.

Oscar wished there was.

Under the blanket, his hands pulsed lightly as he sent the silent prayer into the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oscar casting his charms is just: "You get good vibes and you get good vibes and you get good vibes..."


	2. The Man with Seafoam Hair

Dawn the morning after the storm was grey and cold. Oscar sat up from the couch with a groan and rubbed his neck. Keeping the light going during storms was always an all night ordeal; even with his magic helping him out. The storm hadn’t broken until very early morning. After that point, Oscar had just dumped as much magic as he could into the beacon before slumping down the stairs and collapsing onto the couch. 

Soft light trickled into the cottage as Oscar stared blankly out the window. A mist had settled over the ocean and a damp chill worked its way into his skin. He shivered. 

“No rest for the weary,” he muttered, stiffly standing and cracking his back. Morning chores needed to get done no matter how tired he was. Not like there was anyone around to help pick up the slack. 

Oscar washed up, splashing his face and neck with water and lazily slicking a hand through his hair. He picked up the ivory comb next to the basin, the one that had belonged to his mother, and carefully pulled it through his shoulder length, fluffy locks. He’d tried cutting his hair for a while after his parents died. But he could never get it right. It always came out too short in the back and too long and choppy in the front. So he’d given up trying and just let it grow out to where he could tie it back. He still tried to keep it neat though. Just in case someone did stop by one day, maybe the purple lady, he wanted to look presentable. 

Oscar finished pulling out his knots before tying his hair back up into a comfortable ponytail. His bangs settled on his face; he wasn’t sure why, but he could never bring himself to let them grow out. So he had at least learned to keep them manageable. Next he changed out of his sweater from the day before and slipped on a cotton shirt with a high collar, a blue wool vest, and a faded orange sack coat that used to be his father’s and as a result, was about three sizes too big for him. He rolled up the sleeves, laced up his boots, and stepped outside. 

The rest of his chores were easy as breathing. He brought in some damp firewood and laid it out by the glowing embers of the fireplace to dry. Checked the garden; all the plants had made it fairly well except for one sad little rosemary plant on the edge of the garden that he had missed. He fetched water from the pump, gently encouraging it to not be salty, and hauled it back to the house to fill the wash basin, the kettle, and the few pots for later. He checked the roof for damage. Luckily, the charmed stones that weighed it down had done their job and kept the winds from tearing up the thatching. With one final run up to the beacon to make sure it was set for a good couple hours, Oscar was finally satisfied that his home was in a good state. 

Well, as good as it could be with his limited supplies. Some days he seriously considered breaking his unspoken vow of hermitage so he could go to town and get some proper building supplies and whitewash. The cottage and the lighthouse were both in desperate need of repair beyond his temporary magic fixes. 

Grabbing the blueberry muffin that had come with the purple basket, he left his house and headed down to the puffin’s cliffs. It wasn’t too far a walk and Oscar enjoyed the view of the ocean it offered. The water was still agitated. White peaks flashed on the dark surface, signaling the danger of the choppy waters. As Oscar neared the cliff, he was surprised to see several puffins already flying towards him. 

They landed a little ways down the path and started hopping towards him, flapping and honking in a manner that was mildly alarming. 

“Donut? Tucker? Grif? What’s wrong?” he spun in a confused circle as the puffins jumped and grunted at his feet. 

The puffins let out on last alarmed call before taking off back towards the cliffs. Something was wrong. Oscar tucked what was left of the muffin into his pocket and took off after them, arms out at his sides to keep himself steady on the shifting slopes. 

As he got closer to the cliffs he could see a lot of the puffins were acting strangely. Circling around down by the beach and calling louder than normal. Oscar picked his way over to where the path disappeared into the craggy rocks and descended sharply down to the beach almost a hundred feet below. 

The sand was wet and dark and squeaked under Oscar’s boots as he sprinted over to where most of the puffins seemed to be circling. There was something there. A dark lump laying in the sand. At first he thought it was a seal. He knew that seals liked to hang around the harbor. But he wasn’t sure why a beached seal would send the birds into such a frenzy. Maybe it was a selkie. Birds liked beings with magic so it would explain their panic. He slowed down as he approached, eyes slowly picking over the object, trying to discern what it was. 

Gradually, his brain picked out the details of the unusual debris. The dark covering that he initially thought might be seal skin turned out to be a very fancy looking set of dark green travel clothes. The curves and bumps morphed into the silhouette of a person. The silvery substance that Oscar initially thought was seafoam turned out to be a head of grey hair. 

Oscar walked around the bright head of hair, upon which Sarge dutifully sat, and finally got a proper look at his debris. It was a man. So definitely not a selkie. His face was half buried in the sand but the lines on his face made him out to be in his thirties. Early forties at most. He was tall too. Even curled up on the ground Oscar could tell this guy would tower over him. One hand was curled into a fist in front of his face, knuckles white, and clutching what looked like a handle of some sort but it stopped short past the unusually shaped knuckle guard.

Sarge flapped on top of his head and made a noise at Oscar. 

“Well, this is certainly different.” 

There was a high pitched thrill from somewhere above Oscar prompting him to look up as a large albatross swooped down, landing in the sand on the other side of the man. 

“You too Wash? Sheesh, this guy must really be bugging you guys.” 

He carefully nudged the man in the shoulder with the toe of his boot. He didn’t respond. 

“Is he dead?” Oscar crouched down, and turned over the man’s wrist to feel for a pulse. After a moment he felt it; slow and strong. He was alive. 

Oscar let out a sigh of relief and looked over the man for injuries. Remarkably, he found none. 

“This guy must be made of steel to have survived that storm without a scratch.” he looked up at Wash who pecked at the man’s hair. 

“That, or he’s magic. That would explain why you guys are freaking out.” 

Several more puffins had waddled up by that point and started nudging the man with their beaks and jumping on him. 

Oscar weighed his options. He couldn’t very well go to town with this. There was no telling how that would turn out. The guy wasn’t dead. He wasn’t badly injured that Oscar could tell. He was just out cold and sopping wet. And besides, Oscar would be lying to himself if a small, selfish part of him hadn’t sent his heart pounding at the fact that this was a person. A real life person who, to Oscar’s knowledge, had a chance of waking up and _staying_ for a while. 

Oscar pushed up his sagging sleeves. He’d made his decision, “Alright. Vacate the area please.” 

The puffins all flapped away. Wash stayed, watching with his piercing gaze as Oscar rolled the man onto his back and hooked his hands under his arms. 

“Do me a favor Seafoam Hair,” he huffed as he began to drag the man up the beach towards the path on the cliffs, “just, stay asleep until we get back to the house. And don’t be a dead weight.” 

His hands cooled and immediately the man seemed lighter. Still though, it took Oscar the better part of an hour to get his odd find off the beach, up the cliff, and through his front door. The puffins had followed him a good distance of the way back. Hopping along and occasionally balancing themselves on the man’s long, trailing legs. Wash had stuck around too, which was odd. The albatross usually only stopped by for a few minutes. He was always the most nomadic of Oscar’s bird companions. Even after Oscar shut the door, Wash simply flew up to the landing of the light house where he remained perched, keeping one inky eye on the cottage. 

Once in the house, Oscar took off the man’s cowl and still soggy shoes and socks, doing his best to brush off the sand that he was very thoroughly caked in. After a moment of internal debate, he decided to just dump the guy on the couch. Magic or no, he was not dragging him up a flight of stairs after _already_ pulling him up a cliff and then a hill. Oscar’s calves and arms burned and his heart hammered in his chest as he heaved his guest onto the couch. 

Oscar was surprised at the fact that the man still had not released his grip on the strange object in his hand. That and the fact that he had actually stayed out for the entire trip. His clothes had dried off significantly in the wind but were still a little damp. Oscar felt awkward undressing a stranger so instead he piled the dried logs into the fire pit and focused on warming the house back up.

He busied himself for a while bringing in more wood and getting the woodstove hot. He set his kettle on to boil and rummaged around his makeshift medicine cabinet and the collection of herbs, teas, and tinctures he had there. He wasn’t really sure if any particular one was good for recovering from lying on a beach in soaking clothes for who knows how long, so he just settled on a tea that smelled like ginger and mint. His knowledge of medicine was limited and he was honestly surprised he hadn’t died after all his failed “home remedies” over the years. But ginger never seemed to fail him. 

The kettle boiled and he poured the tea into one of the less chipped cups. He poked his head over the back of the couch. The man was still out like a light. Oscar poured another cup of tea for himself and settled down at the table with a pair of gloves he’d been meaning to mend. A short while later, Oscar strained out the leaves and placed one of the cups near the fireplace to keep warm. After another second of thought, he put out a plate of bread with jam, cheese, and some greens, and placed it near the cup a little further back from the fire. Close enough that if the man woke up, he would know it was meant for him. By the time he had finished his own tea and tied off the last stitch in his gloves the man still showed no signs of waking. 

Oscar checked the make sure the fire was good and warm one last time before wrapping the green scarf securely around his neck and heading back out. He couldn’t just sit around all day waiting for this guy to wake up. He had work to do. 

So Oscar did his work. He refilled the oil at the light, checking the wicks and wiping some of the soot off the glass. He checked on the garden again, pruning back some of the leaves that had snapped or broken in the storm and clearing away the encroaching grasses around the border. 

All the while Wash watched him. Occasionally letting out a trill to let Oscar know he was still there. 

An hour or two passed and the mist lifted only for a light, but cold, rain to take its place. Oscar hefted the basket he had filled with vegetables and fresh herbs and decided to reign it in for the day. He figured he should probably also check to make sure his waterlogged friend hadn’t decided to up and kick the bucket on his couch. 

Oscar shouldered through the front door to find that the man had not, in fact, died spontaneously while he’d been outside. He was instead sitting up on the couch, cup of tea in his hands and the quilt draped around his shoulders. He turned upon hearing the door open and Oscar had to do a double take as the man now wore a pair of stylish sunglasses that hid his eyes. 

“Hello. Glad to see you’re up.” Oscar tried to not let his nerves show. After all, this was the first person he’d spoken to in a very long time and first impressions were important, “You feeling okay?” 

The man seemed slightly off put by Oscar’s presence as lines of confusion appeared on his face before smoothing out into a more serene expression, “Yes, I’m feeling fine. A bit damp perhaps, but warm. Thank you, young man.” 

“Oscar Pine.” he offered, laying the vegetables out on the table and gently tossing the basket over to the small pile of baskets next to the door, “And it’s no problem. Couldn’t just leave you there on the beach. You’re just lucky I got to you before high tide did.” 

The man hummed in thought, “So then you were the one who brought me, here?” he gestured with a slender hand. 

“Yep. How’d you end up down there anyways? You get thrown off your ship in the storm or something?” 

The man cringed and took a sip of his tea, “It was an, unfortunate series of misadventures. Wrong place at the wrong time I’m afraid. I must say though, I’m more curious as to how you managed to bring me here all by yourself.” 

Even though he couldn’t see his eyes behind the glasses, Oscar could feel the man sizing him up. Trying to figure out how a scrawny teen like him who still hadn’t hit his growth spurt, had managed to carry a full grown man a considerable distance up unforgiving terrain. And he could hear the question implied in his words, _“Is it really just you?”_

“Oh well y’know,” Oscar avoided his gaze by ducking down to chuck more fire into the wood stove, “It was only like, a half a mile and it took me an hour so, not that impressive when you think about it.” 

Another hum from the couch, “Indeed. Well, my name is Ozpin. And I thank you again for your hospitality.” 

Oscar tried for a shaky smile, “Of course. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. I’m a little low on food stuffs cause usually it’s just me, but the garden has really been coming through so it wouldn’t be any problem for you to stay here. There’s a spare bedroom upstairs too, so you don’t have to sleep on the couch.” 

He knew he was taking a serious gamble here. This was a total stranger, the first person Oscar had interacted with in _years,_ any number of bad things could happen. He was also certain though, that this was the right course of action. 

Because he remembered back when his parents were alive. He remembered them telling him why they lived on a hill so far away from the rest of the world. About the importance of helping people, and always being ready to offer a kind hand. It was by the kind, though reluctant, hands of others that Oscar had survived this long. So this was a gamble he was willing to take. 

The man, Ozpin, stood, shrugging off the blanket and cracking his neck, “If it’s no trouble, I’ll take you up on that offer.” 

Oscar felt his heart stop for a moment. He hadn’t expected him to actually say yes. In his chest, the faintest spark of a feeling he hadn’t felt in a very long time, flickered to life, “Really?” 

“Well I don’t see why not. You seem like a very nice young man and I’d like to repay you for what you’ve done for me. Besides, I’m not really in any condition to go anywhere at the moment.” 

Ozpin limped over to the table where Oscar was still sorting vegetables and pulled out a chair, stiffly taking a seat, “You’ll have to pardon my disorientated state, but where exactly am I?”   
  


“Oh! Right. You’re at The Beacon of Wind Path. Fancy name but it’s just the city’s lighthouse. Town is about a three mile walk from here. An hour walk downhill. Longer if you’re coming back.” 

“I see. And how long has it been since the storm?” 

“Only a day. I found you washed up this morning. The puffins didn’t like you hanging out on their beach.” 

“Puffins?” Oscar could hear the amusement underlying Ozpin’s voice. 

“There’s a colony of them about a quarter mile down the hill. They kn-” Oscar stopped himself. Revealing his relationship with the birds would undoubtably cue to man into the fact that he carried magic. And weak though it was, Oscar wasn’t going to risk losing his only connection to the world beyond his hill over that. 

He backtracked, “They were kicking up such a fuss when I was down there to see if any seaweed or shellfish washed up for soup. And that’s how I found you.” 

“That makes sense.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Birds are perceptive creatures, that’s all.” 

_Yeah, tell me about it._

“Did you want to wash up?” Oscar grabbed a dented colander from one of the cabinets and threw the array of dirty root vegetables into it, “There’s a washroom under the stairs and you’re still really crusty. And I have some clothes that’ll fit you if you want to wash what you’re wearing, too.” 

“ _You_ have clothes that will fit _me_?” Ozpin quirked an eyebrow. 

“They’re my dad’s old clothes. So they might actually be a little big on you, but yeah.” 

Ozpin seemed to wilt and his teasing tone shrunk to something much more subdued, “That would be much appreciated, thank you Mr. Pine.” 

“Just Oscar is fine.” 

Ozpin stood up and extended a hand, “Well in that case, you may call me Oz.” 

Oscar beamed and took Ozpin’s hand. Even through his gloves he could feel the cold that still lingered on his skin, “It’s nice to meet you.” 

Ozpin gave Oscar a bright smile in return, “The pleasure is mine.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I write about Oscar doing his chores I can hear his leitmotif playing quietly in the back of my head


	3. The Call of the Albatross

Ozpin settled in fairly quickly after waking up. The clothes Oscar gave him _did_ fit, though Oz had to cinch the waist of the work pants considerably and the cotton shirt hung just a little too loosely on his frame. He cleaned himself up while Oscar swept the remainder of the sand out the door. He was surprised to see another basket had appeared on his step during the brief time he had been upstairs pulling out clothes for Ozpin. 

He brought it in just as Oz exited the washhouse looking significantly less pale and salt crusted than when he went in, “Got a special delivery, Oscar?” 

“Supplies.” he explained, and pulled off the burlap covering and inspected the contents. A couple bottles of milk, a chunk of butter wrapped in cheesecloth, several good looking eggs, more cheese, a large loaf of bread that was still smelled fresh, and, “Ha ha! Yes!” 

Oscar pulled out the good sized cut of salted beef wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine,

“Must’ve been one of the butcher’s family today. I almost never get meat from the usual folks who drop stuff off here.” 

Ozpin looked confused as he sat down, “The people from town bring you supplies? Why don’t you ask them to bring meat more often?” 

Oscar stared, completely at a loss for how to explain this one, “Uh, because I don’t have any money? Yeah that’s it, they bring me this stuff for free because I keep the lighthouse going. And since it’s more an exchange of goods for a service rather than specific goods for currency whose value carries over to other areas, I just kinda have to roll with whatever I get.” 

Ozpin leaned forward on his elbows and Oscar avoided looking at his reflection in the sunglasses, “Have you asked them? If you’re all alone up here and they’re already bringing you food, I don’t see why you can’t just let them know when you need something.” 

Oscar shrugged and began tucking the food items that needed to be stored in a cool place back into the basket, “I uh, I never really actually see anyone come by. The baskets just show up, no one really has any reason to stick around and wait for me since it’s like, the communal town chore so…” 

“You’ve never met any of the people who drop off the baskets?” 

“Just unlucky I guess.” Oscar mumbled, turning away from the table. With the basket on one hip he stepped into the breeze way and out of the house. He always had been a terrible liar. 

He probably took too long in the lighthouse. After tucking away the perishables into the root cellar below the lighthouse floor, Oscar couldn’t bring himself to go back into the house. Back to the stranger Ozpin and all his prying questions. So he didn’t. Instead he walked up to the landing around the light and checked again to make sure everything was in order for the encroaching dusk. 

Wash was still up there. Nestled between the bars, gaze still fixed on the house. He chittered when Oscar appeared. 

“Hey Wash, you still up here? Have you eaten at all today?” 

There was a quiet chorus of clicks. 

“Hmm, well, Ozpin’s awake now. He seems like an alright guy. Weird taste in fashion though. I don’t think he’s going to try anything, so you can go now. Go catch yourself some dinner.” 

With one last look between Oscar and the house far below, Wash pushed off between the bars and glided away. 

Oscar watched him go, “Suppose I should do the same.” 

Easier said than done. By the time Oscar reached the bottom of the stairs he felt like his heart was pounding in his ears. For some reason just the thought of seeing Ozpin again, having to deflect question after question, made his stomach twist and his breath hitch. 

No. He had made this choice. This was his responsibility now. Hiding his shaking hands by gathering some of the food from the root cellar into his arms he readied himself and crossed back through the breezeway. 

Ozpin was still sitting at the table and looked to be tracing something in the wood. 

“So I was thinking about stew for dinner. Any objections?” Oscar ignored the way Ozpin’s hands had immediately jerked back from whatever he’d been doing when the door opened. He’d probably just startled the guy. 

“That sounds good. Will you need help preparing it?” 

Oscar, paused, taken slightly off guard by how quickly Oz had offered to help, before smiling and jerking his head towards the pile of small potatoes that he’d brought in earlier, “Sure. Would you be able to peel and chop those please? I can grab you a knife in a second.” 

Oscar bustled around the kitchen, acutely aware of Oz’s eyes following his every movement behind those tinted lenses. Clearly, they were both wary of the other. 

Ozpin picked up one of the potatoes and held it up like he was inspecting a fine jewel, “Rather early in the year for potatoes, is it not? You must have quite the green thumb.” 

Oscar waved a gloved hand dismissively, “Eh, the soil up here is just weird.” 

Whether or not Ozpin bought the painfully obvious deflect, the cottage was silent after that.

The sky had grown dark by the time the stew was done and Oscar was pulling down two bowls from the cupboard. 

He almost expected the quiet atmosphere to hold through dinner. He was quickly proven wrong. 

“If it isn’t overstepping my bounds as your guest,” Ozpin prompted after they had both sat down, “what is a capable young man such as yourself doing living at the top of a cliff keeping a lighthouse all by himself?” 

Oscar gave him a look, “Really? You haven’t figured that out for yourself yet? You’re literally wearing my dad’s old clothes.” 

Ozpin held up a hand, “Apologies. I can guess the unfortunate nature behind your circumstance, but that doesn’t answer my question. Why do you stay here by yourself?” 

Oscar pushed a pea around with his spoon, “Because there’s no one else who can do my job. And there’s nowhere else for me to go.” he answered truthfully. 

Ozpin let out a hum. After knowing the man for only a day, Oscar had already figured out what that meant. He did not believe Oscar in the slightest. 

*** 

After the initial shock of having another person within reach and in the house for the first time in years, Oscar realized with some horror that he had no idea how he was meant to go about his day with another presence. Fortunately, Ozpin seemed content to remain fairly aloof. He stayed in the house for the first couple days, probably still recovering from whatever invisible bruises “misadventures” had left him with. 

Oscar went about his chores as normal. Well, almost normal. Wherever he was around the hilltop, he could feel Ozpin’s eyes watching him from the house. Several times he’d turned around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man standing in the window or at the door. He never did.

He was cautious with his magic. He never took his gloves off, outside or inside, unless he was going to sleep. Same with the scarf. At night he would politely ask his door to remain shut, even without a lock. It always kindly obliged his request. 

The third morning after Oscar had found him, Ozpin followed Oscar outside for his morning chores, still limping, though his movements were significantly less stiff. 

Oscar ventured to ask, “Umm, did you need something Oz?” 

“I was hoping to assist you in your chores. I do appreciate all you’ve done for me in the past couple days, but sitting cooped up in this little house is going to drive me mad. And you know what they say for treating madness; a touch of ocean air will cleanse the mind.” his smile was charming. Unassuming. It made Oscar feel like he could confide any secret in the man and he would think no less of Oscar for it. 

“Aren’t you, injured?” Oscar tilted his head and glanced meaningfully down to where Ozpin was leaning against the doorframe, keeping his weight off one leg. 

“Oh I’ve had this for ages. It comes and it goes, though that storm did take a bit of a toll. I can assure you, I’ll be fine.” his voice was quiet and reassuring. Something in Oscar’s gut told him that he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, despite the devilishly kind smile he wore. 

“Alright. But don’t feel the need to push yourself. I’ve gotten by just fine on my own for years and if you need to sit down or something…” 

“I will pace myself.” 

Oscar was still skeptical, but he relented, “Well, in that case,” he pointed over to the leaning shed on the side of the house. Ozpin looked to where he was pointing, his gaze lingering on Oscar’s gloved hands for just a beat too long, “could you bring in some firewood and kindling for the woodstove? Don’t bother lighting it though; I need to sweep out the ash.” 

“I can take care of that,” Ozpin pushed off the doorframe and strolled over to the shed, “Would you like me to clean out the ashes as well?” 

“Sure, thanks. There’s a jar in the cabinet beneath the left window where I keep ashes so just sweep them in there as best you can and sweep the rest outside.” 

Ozpin gave a thumbs up and Oscar grabbed his watering can and gardening tools from the broken rain barrel next to the door. As he went to stand up straight, he felt a tug around his neck as his scarf began to slip off. He quickly grabbed at the folds with his free hand, looking to see where he was caught. Only to find that he wasn’t. There was no jutting nail, no odd split of a plank, nothing. The dangling edge of his scarf hung untethered in the air. 

Taking a deep breath to calm the panic that still tingled along his skin, he chanced a glance to see if Ozpin had noticed. The man was leaning into the shed, his entire upper body hidden as he reached for the logs on top. 

He re-knotted the scarf, this time tucking the ends under the folds of his greyish green sack coat, and grabbed his tools before Ozpin could notice his hesitation. 

_That was close._

*** 

There were several more close calls over the rest of the day. While he and Ozpin were in the garden picking bulging pea pods and ripe tomatoes, he found the clasps on his gloves kept coming undone. Since they were his dad’s old gloves (he’d outgrown his own years before) that resulted in them continuously trying to slip off. 

It was only after Oscar desperately whispered, “Just stay on!” and let the smallest bit of magic soak into the fabric that they finally stayed put. His scarf also kept mysteriously coming undone. Several times he thought he felt a hand pulling at the twists only to find that Ozpin was much too far away to be the perpetrator. 

Speaking of the man, he was acting odd. Or at least, Oscar thought he was acting odd. He had stopped trying to pry into Oscar’s personal life, and instead seemed to have taken an acute interest in the intricacies of Oscar’s chores. 

He followed the boy everywhere, asking him about how he managed to keep his garden so lush and bountiful even in the cold rains and harsh winds of spring. 

“I mean really Oscar, this is incredible,” he sounded genuinely impressed as he twisted a cabbage head from its leafy throne, “I don’t know how you’ve managed to keep such a thriving plot going up here.” 

“I think it’s the soil,” the words felt wrong on Oscar’s tongue even though it was only a half-lie, “It’s nice and soft; holds moisture well. I’ve also been working it for years. I use ashes from the woodstove and fireplace, along with eggshells and vegetable rinds to make compost. I think that helps. Seaweed is good too when I can get it.” 

Ozpin had asked to see the compost. He also asked to see the lighthouse. And as the man trailed along after Oscar, Oscar found himself with a strange sense of pride. He wasn’t sure he trusted Ozpin’s weirdly comforting and gentle demeanor. But perhaps he just wasn’t used to people being nice. Or people in general. It was nice though, to have someone to talk to about his work. Even if Ozpin still hid his eyes behind those dark sunglasses, which Oscar _definitely_ did not trust at all, he seemed to genuinely be hanging on to Oscar’s every word. His questions were topical and almost always asked in such a way that Oscar found himself launching into another fifteen minute tangent about the best time to collect sea weed, or the best length to cut wicks, how to wrap stones to weigh down the roof, or even how he had been using driftwood and sharp edges of shells to make his own rain barrels and tools. 

By the end of the day Oscar’s throat was sore. It was the most he’d talked in years. He put the kettle on the woodstove and scooped some of the ginger tea into a cup, “Oz, would you like some tea?” 

Ozpin looked up from where he was inspecting the patchwork curtains Oscar had made using kerchiefs that had come with various baskets, “I suppose it would be foolish to ask if you have hot chocolate?” 

“What’s that?” Oscar crouched down and tucked a few more thin logs into the stove. 

“Oh you poor soul.” 

“I’m sure.” 

“Are you sure you should be near the fire with that scarf?” Ozpin seemed to have a strange habit, among others, of switching the topic of conversation to whatever thought crossed his mind, “It looks like it’s made of wool. One wrong spark and you could have a flash fire on your hands. Or neck.” 

Oscar defensively turned up the collar of his shirt, having shed his coat in the warm cottage, “It’s fine. I haven’t caught on fire yet.” 

“Doesn’t mean it can’t still happen.” 

If Oscar didn’t know better, he’d say that sounded like a threat. Nonetheless when Ozpin stepped outside to bring in more wood for the night, Oscar tucked his face into the folds of the scarf and whispered, “Please don’t catch on fire.” 

Just in case. 

***

The following morning Oscar woke with an uneasy feeling in his gut. He got dressed quietly, the walls were thin and he noticed that Ozpin usually slept in a little, and slipped on his gloves and scarf. After politely telling them how much he would appreciate them staying on and secure through the day he reached for the door. 

A shock of what felt like static zapped his hand and he bit back one of the few curses he knew. 

He rubbed his thumb along the cloth over his palm for a moment as the tingling receded, “That’s weird. My magic usually doesn’t recoil on me like that.” 

He tried again. This time rather than shocking him, the metal of the doorknob seemed to hum and vibrate under his touch. As he broke the charm by opening the door, so did the strange phenomenon cease. 

“Weird,” Oscar whispered to himself again, casting a suspicious eye at Ozpin’s closed door as he walked past. 

He didn’t stick around to make breakfast like he usually did. Instead he grabbed his patched up messenger bag and headed right outside. He walked away from the house and the stranger still slumbering in it and headed towards the puffin’s cliff. He needed to clear his head. 

Carolina and Donut flew out to meet him as he drew near and he opened his arms for them to land in, “Hey guys! Did you miss me? Sorry, I’ve been taking care of that guy you found on the beach. He’s a weird one, I’ve got to tell you all about it.” 

More puffins flew out to greet him as he approached his usual sitting place. 

A couple puffins flew up to him with their beaks full of shiny fish. He’d been anticipating this and pulled out a large jar from his bag, “Load ‘em up guys!” 

Oscar sat on the cliff for quite some time, filling in his feathered family on the strange goings on of the last few days. The cool spring air became a little more tolerable as the sun rose and warmed his back. Most of the puffins settled around his legs and in his lap. Several more continued to fly out to sea, only to appear again a few minutes later with beaks full of fish and seaweed for his jar. 

It was peaceful. Nice. 

Suddenly a prickle went up Oscar’s back. He was being watched. He snapped around, trying to find the source of the feeling, and effectively startled several of his roosting companions. They flapped and honked in annoyance as he continued to stare at the grassy slopes of the hill, searching for any sign that someone was out there. 

The uneasy feeling he’d woken up with twisted its way back into his gut. 

Oscar sealed his jar of puffin gifts and tucked it safely into his bag, “Thanks for this everyone, but I think I need to go home now.” 

The puffins waddled away as he stood. Several dove off the cliff and soared back out to sea. More of them circled around his ankles with a chorus of quiet grunts. They followed him back as he walked up the path, humming tunelessly and still scanning the landscape. Gradually the rest of the puffins peeled away until he found himself alone as he crested the top of the hill. 

Ozpin was standing in the middle of the path a ways away from the house. His hands were folded atop a cane that Oscar hadn’t seen before. His face was serious. 

“Oh, good morning Oz. What’s up?” Oscar went to approach but then stopped several yards back when he registered Oz’s expression. 

“Oscar, I think it’s about time we had a talk.” 

Oscar’s felt his heart sink at the unfamiliar tone in Ozpin’s voice, “Are you leaving?” 

The corner of Oz’s mouth twitched into the shadow of a smile, “No, I don’t think I’ll be leaving just yet. Though depending on how this conversation goes, that may change.” 

Oscar tilted his head, relieved that he wasn’t losing his only companion but now more perturbed at the man’s out of character demeanor, “Then what is it?” 

Ozpin got straight to the point, “Would you take off your scarf please? Or your gloves. Either will work.” 

Oscar could feel the blood drain from his face and he clutched his hands protectively to his chest, “Why?” 

Ozpin leaned onto the cane, expression still stony, “Humor me.” 

To Oscar, it was like all the air had gone from the hilltop. He could barely hear the distant hiss and thrum of the ocean and the grasses had gone still as the breeze dropped away. 

“No.” 

Ozpin’s expression changed. The grim set of his mouth once again turning up into that gentle smile of his that made it feel all too easy to fall into trust with him, “You know Oscar, in all my years of travel I like to think I’ve gotten rather good at reading people. Specifically, telling the honest from the dishonest. And you, my young friend, have been lying to me since I got here.” 

Oscar’s mouth had gone dry and his throat felt sticky. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. 

“I’ve also never encountered anyone who can counter my spells quite like you can. Did you teach yourself? And more interestingly, are you even aware of how powerful your own charms are?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally found his voice and it was barely a whisper. 

“I think you do. You’re a terrible liar Oscar. Now, let’s see what you can do, hmm?” 

“What?” 

Oscar barely had time to react as Ozpin’s folded hands became engulfed in bright green flames. He raised one, aimed at Oscar, and… 

With an ear piercing trill, Wash dove out of the sky and into Ozpin’s face. The fire on his hands shot up harmlessly into the sky where it dissipated with a dull boom. Oscar was surprised he was able to keep his balance with the massive bird flapping in his face, arms flailing trying to dislodge his avian assailant. 

With one last screech, Wash kicked away from Ozpin and took off back into the sky. 

“Birds, so perceptive,” Ozpin ran a hand through his hair. He looked at Oscar, then to Wash. An eyebrow quirked and he raised a hand again, this time aimed at the albatross which looked to be circling back. 

Something bubbled up in Oscar. A roiling power he hadn’t felt before; brought on by the panic he felt as Oz aimed at one of the few beings left in the world that he loved.

“Wash!” he reached out, trying to warn the loyal old albatross to stay away.

A massive gust of wind exploded from him. He didn’t feel it go out of his hands like his magic usually did. Instead he felt it encase him like a thick blanket before _exploding_ outward from every pore. The gale caught Wash, albeit roughly, and sent him soaring back up and up into the sky and out to sea until he was a speck in the distance. 

Ozpin took his chance while Oscar was frozen in shock. The fire dissipated from his hands and he redirected his focus to Oscar, making a curt motion with his hand like he was beckoning him over. Oscar’s gloves flew off exposing the glowing, shifting patterns on his hands that shone like the skin of an abalone in the sunlight.

Oscar panicked. Cards on the table, he didn’t see any point in pretending like they could go back from this point. He could still feel some of the raw energy bubbling under the surface of his skin. Drawing on that he pulled his arms back and then swung them forward, his hands connecting with a loud clap that echoed as it bounced off the walls of the lighthouse. This time he intentionally channeled his magic through his hands the way he knew how. The shockwave that rippled from him flattened the grass and sent Ozpin toppling backwards. 

The hilltop was deadly quiet for a moment as Oscar’s brain slowly registered what he had done. And then promptly began to churn out all the worst versions of the inevitable repercussions. He stood stone still, hands still palm to palm, his whole body shaking as he watched Ozpin roll over in the grass. He slowly pushed himself, his arms trembling. There was a wheeze. And then a snort. And then Oscar realized that Oz’s arms weren’t shaking from exertion or anger. 

He was shaking with laughter. 

Oz leaned back on his elbows, throwing his head back to the sky and laughed. He laughed and laughed. Occasionally he’d draw in a shaky breath and look like he was about to say something, only to break down into another fit of giggles. His sunglasses had fallen off, and Oscar could see tears streaming down his face. 

“Well, Oscar Pine,” his fits finally calmed enough for him to speak. For the first time, Oscar saw his eyes. They were a rich brown that when caught in the light, shone like drops of amber. His right pupil and iris were both shaped like gears. And as Oscar stared, he could see them ticking in opposite directions before slowing to a stop, “I suppose we _both_ have a little explaining to do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only realized after writing this that I inadvertently recreated the:  
> Oscar: “I need someone to be my friend. Someone who won’t run away. Maybe send me an angel! The nicest angel you have.”  
> Ozpin, reenacting that one scene from the little mermaid only with zero grace and going into hypothermic shock: *morally grey maniacal laughter*


	4. The Conversation

This felt very backwards to Oscar. He and Ozpin sat at the kitchen table across from each other. Oscar with him arms crossed and a scowl on his face, and Oz leaning forward in his chair and resting his chin on his folded hands atop his cane. Not a hint of remorse was to be found on his face.

“So,” Oscar felt like he shouldn’t have to be playing the role of the adult in this situation, but it seemed like he had no choice, “when did you figure it out?”

Ozpin shrugged, “The moment I woke up. This entire hill is buzzing with magic. Any proper magic bearer with half a brain could feel it. At first I thought it was the house but,” he waved a hand over the table and small green squiggles glowed faintly in the wood, “I checked. It’s not this place that’s magic. So that just left you.”

Oscar cringed and rubbed his neck, “Yeah well, most people aren’t really willing to lug all the supplies needed to keep a lighthouse and actual house in good repair three miles uphill so I’ve kind of been having to make do. It’s just the odd patch job here and there, nothing too impressive.”

“I would disagree. In fact, I’d go as far as to argue that the roof we are comfortably sitting under, would collapse on us in a second if your charms weren’t keeping it together.”

Oscar inspected his dirty nails under the table. When he thought about it, he _did_ spend a lot of time doing “little fixes” to the lighthouse and the cottage. He hadn’t thought it was that much, but Ozpin seemed convinced, “Okay then. If you knew, why didn’t you just ask me like a normal person?”

“Well, you were clearly attempting to hide it. I didn’t want to pry.”

“So instead you decided to play magical hot potato until one of us caved? Is that why my door handle attacked me this morning? And why my gloves are suddenly incapable of acting the part?” as he said it the pieces fell into place for Oscar. All the weird happenings and coincidences. It had all been Ozpin.

“I was curious,” Ozpin’s grin turned sheepish and he peered at Oscar with a sparkle in his eyes, “I wanted to see what you could do. And if you were even aware you were doing it.”

“You almost killed Wash over _that_? Do you have any idea how much bad luck that would’ve been?!” Oscar could not believe the man sitting before him.

“If it’s any consolation, I was never going to actually harm your friend.” 

“But you were okay with trying to disintegrate the fourteen-year-old who let you into his house while you were covered in _sand_?” Oscar was aware that he sounded a little hysterical. He figured he had to right to be in this moment at least.

“That’s different. You had the means to defend yourself.” Oz remained sure.

Oscar threw up his hands, “It doesn’t work like that!” 

Ozpin was looking entirely too pleased with himself as he met Oscar’s accusatory glare over steepled fingers, “No, I think it does. For example, if I were to throw the bird off a cliff as opposed to if I threw you off a cliff…” 

“We’re getting off track.” Oscar slumped back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed, “Are you going to leave now that you have your answer?”

Oscar figured that was the only reason he’d stuck around after having clearly recovered. Ozpin’s miraculous escape from the sea without a trace of injury also made sense now that he knew the wizard had probably used a great deal of magic to keep himself afloat and alive. He’d just wanted to be proven right, and now he was going to leave.

 _Not like he had any obligation to stay anyways,_ Oscar thought bitterly.

“Actually, I’m going to stay here for a while longer. I am in fact, more certain of that decision now than I was before.”

The table rocked as Oscar bolted up and slammed his hands on it, “Seriously? You’re not leaving?”

Ozpin actually looked taken aback by Oscar’s palpable relief, “If you’d have me, then yes. I may be a liar Oscar, but I meant it when I said you’re a very capable and kind young man. With very powerful magic, I might add. I’d like to stay with you, maybe help you master it a little better.”

“So you’re sticking around?”

“Yes.”

“Not going anywhere?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

Ozpin shrugged, his mouth twisting into an uncomfortable grimace, “I’m not sure. As long as is permitted I suppose.”

“Are you going to cue me in on that very cryptic statement?”

Ozpin’s smile returned, “Perhaps another day.”

Oscar stuck out his tongue before turning and pacing around the kitchen, suddenly giddy, “Okay well, if you’re staying here we need to lay some ground rules.”

Ozpin put his chin atop his hands again, his head not moving but eyes following Oscar, “Oh?”

“You have to help out with the chores. If you see something that needs doing, just do it. Don’t use your magic on the house or anything though. I’m not sure what you did to my door, but the last thing I need is the roof catching on fire because you messed with the chimney or something.”

“Understood.”

“Next, leave the lighthouse to me. No touching the beacon. That’s _my_ responsibility. And don’t mess with the birds anymore. Especially not Wash. Otherwise I guess just, don’t be weird? Like no more spying on me or trying to put spells on my gloves.” 

“That all sounds well within my range of abilities. Are you sure the birds aren’t going to mess with me though?” Ozpin had moved his sunglasses so they now sat on the tip of his nose and Oscar could see his magic-branded eye when he met his gaze.

“They’ll leave you alone once I tell them to. But no instigating fights. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

Oscar stopped his pacing to look around the kitchen, “Well, that’s all I’ve got. I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now but, I’m still not really used to people so, sorry too if I do anything weird.”

“It’s perfectly alright. I for one, think don’t think you’re weird if it’s any consolation. I’m honestly very impressed with how well-spoken you are, did your parents teach you?”

Oscar rubbed his neck, “They taught me enough, yeah. I can read and write and count just fine. I guess I was just lucky they left some books in the house.”

“Hmm. Well if you like, I can teach you more as long as I’m here as well.”

“Didn’t you just say you were going to teach me magic as well?”

“I can do both. Just call me Professor Ozpin!”

Oscar crossed his arms, “I will not. You hungry? I just remembered I haven’t eaten at all today and using magic always makes me hungry. And tired.”

“I could eat. And coincidentally, that brings us to our first lesson.”

Oscar groaned as he opened the breezeway door, “Can’t it wait for like an hour until we’re done eating?”

Ozpin stood and headed over to the precariously stacked pile of pans on one of the counters, “On the contrary, I find it’s best to learn when one is occupied with a task. Having physical stimulus can help the mind to focus.”

Oscar screwed up his face, “You really know how to work your way around any problem, huh.”

“In my line of work? Of course.”

And so Oscar spent the rest of his morning getting lectured by Ozpin about the physical strain magic can have on the body.

“Magic takes the shape of its user. Like pouring water into a container. Only in this case, the container can change the flavor, color, or texture of the liquid. It’s still liquid, but it’s different depending on which cup you use.” Ozpin was cutting up a block of cheese and handing the slices to Oscar who placed them on the toasting bread he’d laid out on the wood stove, “That’s also why each person with magic also has a brand that is unique to themselves.”

“Cool. So does that mean I can’t make fire like the stuff you did earlier?”

“You could, but like I said, magic takes the shape of its user. You might find you don’t like using fire based magic. I noticed you seem to be rather good at wind though.”

Oscar shrugged, carefully flipping one of the eggs that was sizzling on the hot stove top, “I guess. It just sort of happened in the moment. Wind is familiar to me.”

Ozpin gave Oscar another look over the rims of his sunglasses, “See? You’ve already got a base magic aspect you’re more comfortable with. Your default if you will.”

Oscar scraped the eggs off the stove and onto the cheesy slices of toast. Ozpin held up two plates and Oscar transferred the toast over to them.

For the rest of breakfast Ozpin explained more about magic than Oscar ever could have thought was even known. He talked about how charms differed from spells in that while spells were cast on things, charmed were imbued into them.

“Spells can only be removed by the original caster but they can be countered. That’s what happened with your doorknob, your charm countered my spell. Charms will fade with time unless they are dispelled early. You can counter a spell with a spell, or a spell with a charm, but never a charm with a charm.”

He explained that Oscar should never overextend his magic. He had to pace himself, build up his endurance and stores gradually over time.

“I overdid it once,” Ozpin rubbed his leg and smiled ruefully, “I would not recommend it.”

The lecture continued after breakfast as Oscar dragged Ozpin out to the garden and then up to the lighthouse. Later on the beach when they were scrubbing out some of the pots and pans with sand, Ozpin demonstrated some more of his own magic by shifting the waves and water until there was a giant dent in the ocean. Oscar walked out into it, marveling as he crouched down to look at an anemone sway in the current.

“This is amazing Oz!” he looked back at Ozpin with a wide grin, “Could you walk all the way across the ocean with this?”

Ozpin chuckled at Oscar’s enthusiasm, “I’m afraid not. The more water I have to move, the greater the exertion. I probably wouldn’t be able to get even a half mile out before the strain would cause the water to collapse on me.”

Oscar jogged back up to dry land and Oz released the magic. The two sputtered as a spray of salty seawater washed over them.

Oscar laughed and wiped some wet from his eyes, “That’s still really incredible though! I wish I could do stuff like that.”

Ozpin wiped his glasses on his shirt, “You’ll be able to someday. With a little training of course, but I am certain you are more than powerful enough to do that on your own with time.”

Oscar felt weird that Oz kept complimenting him. He felt like he was still lying to the man. Somehow he’d mislead him to believe that Oscar was some smart and powerful wizard, and not just a teenage hermit with no family to speak of and nothing better to do with his time than cheap, life hack magic tricks.

He tried to correct Ozpin several times over the course of the day. But each time Oz shut him down, “I told you Oscar, I may be a liar but on this matter I am certain. You are much more powerful than you give yourself credit for.”

When he said that, he’d had a sort of sad look on his face. Not exactly pity, but Oscar’s wasn’t sure what else it could be. There was a frustrated tilt to his mouth and a concerned dip to his eyebrows. Like there was something more he wanted to say but just didn’t.

Ozpin’s lecture carried through the entire day until Oscar found himself pressed up against the arm of the couch fighting back a yawn as Oz finished explaining the difference between magical creatures and humans with magic. Ozpin was sitting in the hardly used rocking chair next to the fire, legs crossed and glasses tucked onto the top of his head. Turns out that cane he had was actually the odd handle Oscar had found him on the beach with. And by some means of magic, he had retracted the staff so it was just a handle again. His fingers traced the swirling etchings on it in a familiar way that could only be construed as habitual.

Oscar tuned out whatever Oz was saying and chose instead to watch the reflection of the fire on Oz’s sunglasses. He didn’t tune back in until Ozpin was suddenly kneeling in front of him, a hand on his knee, “Oscar? You should go to bed. It’s getting late.”

Oscar yawned, “I don’t know who you think you are, oh great and powerful wizard Ozpin, but this is my house and I get to decide bedtime.”

Oz smiled. It was a different smile than his usual charismatic, “trust me” smile. This one was gentle and warm, and there was something behind it that Oscar was too tired to try and place, “Yes well, even if this is your house, I am now your teacher. And thusly I am responsible for your ability to learn and retain information. And that’s not going to happen if you’re falling asleep during my lesson. Now, off to bed with you.”

Oscar scowled at him, “Why did I let you into my house?”

“Because you are a kind soul, and you couldn’t just leave an old man like myself down on the beach to freeze to death.”

“Hmph,” Oscar didn’t have a ready retort, so instead he got up from the couch and slouched up the stairs.

Lying in bed he mentally ran through everything Oz had told him throughout the day. It was all so incredible and new to Oscar; he couldn’t wait to learn more. As he drifted off to sleep, he found himself actually looking forward to waking up in the morning for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morally Grey Ozpin is so fun to write because it's just Ozpin but like,,,, without the child liability waivers


	5. The Front

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be just a quick side project but I really do by tacking on another chapter every time I update huh

After another day of lectures and lessons, Oscar was ecstatic when Ozpin proposed they actually go out and try some magic.

“So wait, what do you mean by ‘try?’” Oscar hovered excitedly at Ozpin’s elbow. They were on the opposite end of the hill from where the lighthouse and the house were, looking out to the north. The cliff face below them was almost a sheer drop to where a thin stretch of sand gave way to the dark and angry rocks that were relentlessly pounded by the choppy waves. It was windy today. Oscar figured there was probably another storm coming in the next couple days.

“Exactly that,” Ozpin stopped a few feet back from the cliff and turned to Oscar. His grey hair whipped around his face, only partly held in place by the sunglasses that were tucked onto the top of his head. Slowly the gear in his eye started to tick and turn, “I know you can do small things; you clearly have a base understanding of your abilities and how to fine tune your magic. But I think it’s time we have you try something a little, _more.”_

Ozpin raised an arm, pointing it out towards the open sea. Oscar watched, fascinated, as the green flames he had summoned before sputtered to life. But then rather than staying confined to his hand, they raced and coiled up his arm, dancing and whipping in the wind. The gears in Oz’s eyes were turning much faster now. And with the green flames curling around into his hair and winding around his head, a wild grin on his face, he almost didn’t look human.

He gracefully turned his wrist, and snapped. A column of green flame blasted out into the sea. Oscar could only watch in wordless awe as the flames went out a good half mile before hitting the water, sending up a massive plume of steam that billowed in the breeze. Ozpin’s flames dissipated until only a few sparks flickered between his fingers. Oscar’s face felt warm where it had been closest to Oz’s arm.

“I get to do _that?!”_

Ozpin chuckled and placed a hand on Oscar’s head, “Not quite. I want you to try doing that, but with wind. Here,” he showed Oscar a stance; feet planted, shoulders back, head high, arm up, “you have to be ready for the recoil. No, that foot is a little more forward. And this foot points forward. Arm higher, there you go. Now, do you remember how to make it go?”

“I think so?”

“Okay, well for now just do what feels right. Remember, build it up gradually. Don’t think you have to open with a gust like the one you made the other day.”

“Right,” Oscar was aware that his hand was shaking a little as he focused. Magic has always come easily to him. He remembered being a kid, putting charms on pebbles he’d find at the beach that turned them different colors, or making seashells sing for his mom. But this was different somehow. More real. Serious.

Oscar thought about the wind he felt around him. A wave of cold starting at the crown of his head washed down behind his eyes and back until his entire body felt cool and tingly. He opened his eyes, aiming for where the last wisps of steam still curled above the waves. The patterns on his hands shifted.

He didn’t have a knack for fancy moves or flares like the ones Ozpin put into his casting. So he just did what felt right. Arm up, palm out, and release.

The magic rushed out of him in a massive gust. It wasn’t as strong as the one he had released when Oz had confronted him, but it was still big enough. It took barely a minute until he was able to watch the wisps of steam out at sea as his wind caught them and threw them up into the atmosphere where they faded to join the wispy clouds.

Oscar lowered his hand and before looking up at Ozpin excitedly, “Did you see that?! I’ve never done something like that before! Not on purpose at least! That was incredible!”

Ozpin’s wide smile matched Oscar’s excitement, “Yes, that was wonderfully done Oscar. Now, shall we try again?”

The two stood on the edge of the cliff for a good portion of the day, sending spells into the sea. Occasionally Ozpin would correct Oscar’s stance, or give him advice on a better way to channel his magic.

“Remember it’s like liquid,” Ozpin said as he manipulated Oscar’s wrist into a more relaxed position as opposed to the rigid palm-out gesture he’d been holding, “you have to let it flow.”

Oscar didn’t think he’d ever used this much magic before. And as the afternoon turned late, he found himself letting out an exhausted sigh and resting his hands on his knees, spots dancing in front of his vision.

“Hey. Oz?” he gasped. Ozpin looked up from where he was sitting in the grass, absentmindedly braiding it together.

“Can we,” he coughed and stood up straight. His vision swam and he blinked a few times, “can we call it a day? I think I’m at m-“

Ironically enough, a particularly strong gust that Oscar knew could only be borne of an encroaching storm front, ripped across the hilltop. Ozpin fell partly sideways, still unaccustomed to the ocean’s capricious atmospheric fits. A veteran to the forces of the coast, Oscar leaned into the wind, planting his feet and throwing his arms up to shield his eyes. It subsided much too quickly though, and Oscar realized with some surprise that he was standing _much_ closer to the edge of the cliff than he’d thought. He teetered for a moment, trying to regain his balance. The attempt was in vain.

Oscar fell.

He didn’t feel himself fall, just registered the sudden absence of anything solid around him.

He heard Ozpin yell something but Oscar couldn’t hear what it was past the roaring in his ears. He only caught the look of absolute _fear_ on the man’s face before dropping out of sight.

Oscar reacted on instinct, calling on his magic like Oz had been teaching him to. For the first time all day he could feel it ripple off him in those rolling waves like it had that first time he’d confronted Oz. He focused on the rushing wind around him, angling his body so he could see the ground. He grit his teeth through the exhaustion he felt as his body screamed at him to stop. He held out his hands in front of him, directing the wind at the rocks and hoping to slow and cushion his fall. If he was lucky, he’d escape this with only a few stinging scrapes.

But that was a very big _if._

Instead, a giant blast of air that felt like it belonged to a hurricane sent him rocketing back up into the sky.

 _Too much!!_ Oscar’s mind yelled at him as he now looked down at the rapidly approaching cliff. Ozpin was still there, looking up at him with one hand raised.

Oscar debated trying the wind trick again, but he didn’t want to accidentally blast Ozpin off the cliff as well. He didn’t think he could anyway. The magic that had been thrumming at his hands was gone. He was at his limit. There would be no more saving winds. The ground was getting close and with a sinking feeling Oscar realized he might just hit it without even getting to see anything beyond his little hill.

All at once there was a bright green encasing him. Oscar stared at the magic bubble. It looked cracked and fractured, like glass, but when he hit the ground moments later it held.

Slightly jarred and definitely not without a few bruises, Oscar laid in the ring of flattened grass and chunks of sandy dirt that the dissipated bubble had left imprinted on the ground, “Ow.”

“Oscar!”

He strained his neck to look up as Ozpin dropped to the ground next to him, hands hovering nervously, “Are you okay? I’m so sorry I didn’t realize- that was irresponsible of me I- are you hurt anywhere? Can you stand?”

Oscar let his head flop back and gave a weak thumbs up, “I’m good. Don’t worry about me. I’m just going to lie here and appreciate solid ground for a second.”

He giggled a little hysterically, “Nice catch by the way. Don’t think I would have been able to keep the lighthouse going after a fall like that. People in town would’ve been pretty annoyed.”

To Oscar’s surprise, Ozpin grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up into a tight hug.

He was shaking, “Damn the lighthouse, I’m glad that _you’re_ okay.”

It took a moment for the words to cut through the dazed shock. They registered as Oz moved one of his hands to cradle the back of Oscar’s head, his fingers carding through his hair feeling for bumps or cuts.

Oscar latched onto the man. It had been _so long_ since he’d been held like this. Since he’d had someone _care_ about him. It hurt. He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to, but it did.

The two stayed there for a while until the wind began to bite through Oscar’s clothes, making him shiver. He was exhausted. It didn’t help when Ozpin finally pulled back, taking with him the warmth Oscar hadn’t realized he missed so dearly for so long. 

“Here,” Ozpin turned around so his back was to Oscar, “I’ll carry you back.”

Oscar didn’t feel like walking, not with his legs shaking the way that they were, but he still felt the slightest twinge of guilt, “But, your leg-”

“Will be fine just this once. Think of it as returning the favor, for when you carried me off the beach.”

“I wouldn’t have called that carrying.” Oscar muttered, but he complied. He felt like a little kid again when Ozpin stood, Oscar securely on his back. Like he did back when his parents were alive and they would carry him on their backs walking up the hill from town. Oscar buried his face into Ozpin’s shoulder. Oz was wearing his dad’s old clothes again and Oscar could still smell the faint traces of the pipe weed his dad used to smoke late at night, standing at the top of the lighthouse looking out at the sea. The dark smell mixed with Ozpin’s own light, sweet aroma to create something that, to Oscar, was both familiar and strange.

He didn’t realize he was crying Ozpin’s steps faltered and he felt the man tilt his head so his cheek was resting on Oscar’s temple, “Hey, you okay?”

Oscar shuddered as another round of quiet sobs left him and he could only find it in himself to shrug. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. After his parents were gone, he’d cried a lot. But he learned quickly that crying didn’t get his job done. Self-pity and mourning were luxuries for him that he didn’t need. He just needed to do his job.

Here and now though, prompted by the closeness and warmth of another, he could feel the years of isolation, anger, sadness, and perpetual melancholy that hung over him, all come bubbling to the surface to dampen Ozpin’s shoulder.

Ozpin readjusted his grip on Oscar, muttering quiet reassurances as he continued towards the house, “It’s okay, I’ve got you. We’re almost home.”

When they arrived at the cottage, Ozpin dropped Oscar gently off at the couch. He placed a hand on his head, Oscar’s ponytail had fallen out at some point and he brushed some of the stray, fluffy locks out of his face, “You going to be alright by yourself for a minute?”

Oscar nodded, a pit already opening in his chest at the loss of contact. He swallowed the feeling as Ozpin disappeared, going outside to get more firewood. Oscar could hear him setting up the wood stove and putting on the kettle. It had only been a week but already Ozpin was well acclimated to the ebb and flow of Oscar’s life.

Oscar sat on the couch, staring at the runny streaks of soot on the fireplace and shaking. He really needed to get up. He had to change out the wick for the evening and get dinner started. There were things that needed to get done. Especially with a storm on the way. But for some reason, he just couldn’t bring himself to.

Oscar was surprised when, after stoking the fireplace into a brighter, fizzling flame, Ozpin circled back to the couch. He pulled the quilt off the arm of the couch and carefully draped it over Oscar’s shoulders before taking a seat next to him. He sat close. Not close enough to crowd Oscar, but close enough that if Oscar wanted to, he could lean into him.

He wanted to. He really did. There was a part of his mind though, hardened and blunt from years of self-discipline, that was whispering angrily at him that he needed to get up. Stop acting like a child and clinging to a stranger and do his job.

Was Oscar not still a child though? He wondered as he scrubbed the drying tear tracks from his cheeks. When had he forgotten that?

“Oscar?” Ozpin’s tone was unfamiliar compared to his usual air of surety and calm. He was hesitant and quiet. When he looked at Oscar his face was pulled taught by worry. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, trying think of something to say but coming up short.

In his years Ozpin knew he had done some questionable things. He wasn’t a good person. He knew that. But he was not without a heart. And he always found that children were the quickest to find it past all his cool bravado and aloof confidence. So when he had met Oscar, a soul so neglected and far too aged for one so young and yet still so kind, his old, questionable heart had broken just a little.

He always did have a soft spot for kids.

But that didn’t mean he was any good with them. He’d said a silent prayer of thanks every day that Oscar was so ready to talk about anything and everything. It saved Ozpin the trouble of fumbling around for conversation topics. Though it did make his chest ache because he knew the trait was likely directly correlated to the fact that Oscar probably hadn’t had anyone other than the sea birds and the wind to talk too for far too long.

He couldn’t rely on Oscar to carry the conversation now. Not when he looked at him with eyes still shining with unshed tears and shaking so badly Ozpin could feel it through the couch cushions. He gave up trying to think of something to say and instead lifted an arm, giving him an in if he so chose.

Oscar looked more unsure than Ozpin had seen in the short time he’d known him. He tried for a reassuring smile, “It’s alright, I don’t mind.”

Oscar chewed his lip for only a moment before his face scrunched up and he shakily buried himself into Ozpin’s side. Oz could almost hear another string of his heart snap. He wondered how long it had been since the boy had been able to find comfort in another. 

So for now, he forgot about words and focused on giving this child all the comfort he clearly needed. Oscar didn’t hold on to him, though his hands clutched the quilt so hard his knuckles were white. He probably didn’t remember how to initiate physical affection after years without. It reminded Ozpin of how after traveling through isolated areas, going weeks at a time without seeing another soul, he would always stumble over his words for a couple days when he made it back to civilization.

Ozpin picked up the slack this time, wrapping one arm around Oscar’s slight shoulders to pull him close and gently running his other hand through his hair. He hummed a quiet song his mother had used to sing to him. He couldn’t remember the words, but he remembered the tune.

After a while of staring into the fire, Ozpin chanced a look down at Oscar. He had fallen asleep, his cheek squished against Ozpin’s torso and hair mussed up and even fluffier after Ozpin’s ministrations. His cheeks were flushed slightly and there was a shudder to his breathing, but otherwise he was calm. He was probably exhausted, physically and mentally, after today.

Ozpin sighed and reached over to pull the drooping quilt more securely around Oscar’s shoulders. In his heart, he knew he couldn’t go back from this. He couldn’t leave this child here alone again. If he did, he knew all the questionable things he had done and mistakes he had made in his life wouldn’t be able to hold a candle to the cruelty such an action would constitute.

Looking outside, Ozpin could see the sky taking on the first hues of dusk. This was usually around the time when Oscar would disappear up into the lighthouse to do whatever it was he did up there to get the beacon ready for the night. He’d taken Ozpin up to the lighthouse landing a couple times and showed him how he changed the wick and what he did to keep the light going. Whether or not Ozpin could replicate the task was another matter. One look at Oscar’s sleeping face cemented the fact that he would have to try. Ozpin didn’t have it in him to wake Oscar only to send him off to do the very task that chained him to this lonely hilltop. Oscar deserved a break.

So instead Ozpin carefully scooted over, gingerly guiding Oscar down. After a second of thought, Ozpin grabbed his cowled travel cloak from where it was draped over the back of the couch and folded it up neatly before tucking it under Oscar’s head like a makeshift pillow.

Oscar stirred slightly, but didn’t wake.

Ozpin brushed some of his hair away from his eyes before quietly making his way to the breezeway and stepping through. He wasn’t sure how Oscar managed to make the trek up the lighthouse stairs but he supposed that sort of thing came with a short lifetime of experience. By the time _he_ reached the top, Ozpin was out of breath and his leg was aching. He leaned against the railing, taking deep draughts of the cool ocean air. The sky was now streaked with vibrant orange and shades of pink as the sun dipped down to reflect its fading light onto the darkening sea.

Ozpin turned around, still leaning against the railing, and inspected the lamp. It was a simple little thing, made of a brassy metal with a long glass tube where the flame was held. Ozpin stared at it for a moment, puzzling out his course of action.

_“No touching the beacon. That’s my responsibility.”_

Ozpin tsked. He may have only known Oscar for a short time, but he knew he would be upset if Ozpin ignored one of the few rules he had put in place.

“A compromise then.” Ozpin looked down at his hand as his fingertips began to glow green. Streaks of greens ran down his hand like ichor collecting into a single glowing orb in his palm. He waited until the orb was about the size of a ball of yarn before opening the glass pane that protected the lamp inside. Gingerly he placed the bobble of magic light just above the top of the lamp, and closed the pane.

“There, I’m sure Oscar won’t object to a stand in for a short while. And I didn’t touch the beacon, so I upheld my end.” Ozpin smiled and looked out to sea. He really did like it here. In all his years of travel, he’d never found a place that had just felt like _home._ Not like this place did. It was strange, he’d been here such a short time and already he felt saddened at the thought of leaving. 

But…

The corner of his mouth twisted down and a dark feeling churned in his gut. He knew he couldn’t stay here. He knew he had to leave. That was the life he had made for himself.

Ozpin stayed up at the landing for a short while longer, watching the sunset. He looked down at the sleeves of his borrowed clothes, examining the faint scorch marks along the edges of the cuffs from where its former owner had likely singed himself tapping ashes from a pipe. How often, he wondered, had Oscar stood up here watching the sunset by himself? How often had he looked down at town, which was slowly beginning to take on a soft glow as lanterns and houses were lit, and wished for some sort of company.

Ozpin sighed and headed for the stairs. In a way, he and Oscar were polar opposites. Ozpin had, in his life, looked out for himself first and foremost. He wasn’t cruel or spiteful; he still helped where and who he could, mostly if it played into his interests. Rather, he saw himself as practical. Of course that practicality had gotten him into a great deal of trouble; but that was besides the point. Ozpin’s greatest concern had always been his own autonomy. His freedom and ability to choose where he went and who he loved.

Oscar, meanwhile, was far too selfless for his own good. He stayed here, binding himself to a thankless job that he probably thought was all he was good for.

Ozpin mused to himself as he carefully picked his way down the spiraling stairs. He thought about how much _more_ Oscar could be. With his powerful magic, sharp tongue and sharper mind, and his kind heart, he could do incredible things.

Ozpin stopped and squinted into the dim light as the shadows of a new thought began to flicker at the edges of his mind. He thought about the past week. How much _fun_ it had been, just helping Oscar with his chores and listening to him chatter. Teaching him magic and showing him how he could practice writing with it. Oscar taking him to the puffin cliffs and introducing him by name to _all of them._ The swell of pride that Ozpin had felt when Oscar looked at him, eyes bright and sparkling, when he’d created those first few gusts at the cliff earlier.

Ozpin slowly sat down on the stairs, “Oh dear.”

He had been hesitant about leaving before. Imagining the look on Oscar’s face when he inevitably told him he had to go, that he was going to leave him here alone to waste away on the cliffs, was one thing. That was guilt. Plain and simple.

But this? This new feeling that hummed beneath his ribs told him that they were never going to say goodbye. They couldn’t. Because Ozpin knew Oscar could be more. He _wanted_ Oscar to be more. And he knew he could help him with that. He wanted to teach Oscar. To take him out into the world and show him all the good and life that there was. He wanted to share Oscar with the world too, he knew of a few friends who would _adore_ the small wizard. And the world would be better for having him out in it.

He couldn’t leave Oscar here.

He wouldn’t.

“There’ll be no coming back from this,” Ozpin murmured. His words echoed back at him almost mockingly.

First though, he had to figure out how he was going to get Oscar off this damned hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the hardest part writing this chapter was trying to figure out if one week is actually enough time to get this attached to a person and calling on my own experience; yes, one week is enough.


	6. Wind Path

After the incident at the cliff, Ozpin’s demeanor changed entirely. Since he’d shown up he’d always maintained his face of appearing collected and in control. Maybe a little distant as well, but never cold. But when Oscar had woken up on the couch, Ozpin in the kitchen making dinner and Oscar’s supplies for lighting the beacon waiting for him on the table, he’d immediately noticed the change.

Ozpin was more, nurturing, in a way. He certainly wasn’t doting to any degree, just more parental than he had been. He actively started checking in Oscar; making sure he was eating well and nudging him towards the couch for a nap after practicing spells. He started picking up slack with chores too, to the point where Oscar actually found himself sleeping in a little later in the mornings. He helped to tidy the cottage, something Oscar hadn’t bothered with in years; taking down the towers of kitchenware and sorting them into a slightly less precarious mess and stacking the baskets that littered the cottage neatly into their own little corner.

He was a lot touchier too. Not in a weird or invasive way. Just more familiar. A passing touch on Oscar’s shoulder, ruffling his hair or patting his head gently when he walked by, letting Oscar lean against him when the two would sit by the fire in the evening. Once or twice he even asked Oscar if he could brush his hair. Anytime that happened, Oscar always had a strangely elaborate hairdo afterwards.

Oscar would be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate it. And that was where he found himself a few days after the cliff; sitting crisscross in one of the chairs at the kitchen table while Ozpin pulled at strands of his hair, tugging them into what felt like a braided half ponytail.

“So,” Ozpin started, “I was thinking about going into town today.”

Oscar’s head twitched as he tried to turn around to look at Oz, “What? Why?”

The man’s fingers paused and one hand gently grabbed the top of his head, redirecting his gaze forward again, “There are a few things I would like to pick up. Would you care to come with?”

Oscar’s hands instinctively folded into each other under the table, “Uh, I’d rather not. I don’t think the people in town really like me all that much.”

“Oh?”

With a sigh, Oscar leaned back slightly into the chair, “I’d rather not talk about it. You’ll figure it out pretty quick once you get to town anyways.”

Ozpin hummed disapprovingly as he tied off the end of Oscar’s hair, “Well, regardless, is there anything you’d like me to pick up?”

“Not that I can think of off the top of my head,” Oscar lied. The list of things he would have _liked_ for Ozpin to pick up was far too lengthy for him to even consider asking.

“Right. In that case, you don’t get to complain about what I do bring back.” Ozpin started walking around the cottage, picking up his things.

“Are you leaving right now?” Oscar turned in his chair to watch him as he laced up his beat-up black leather boots.

“If I recall, you said that it’s an hour walk to town and longer coming back, correct? I am not unfamiliar with Wind Path, but it looks like it has grown a little since last I was here. The sooner I leave, the better chance I have of making it back before dark.”

Ozpin donned his cloak with a flourish before sliding his sunglasses onto his face and magically extending his cane.

“But, you will be back, right?” Oscar hated how uncertain he sounded. Hated that in the back of his mind he could feel panic bubbling up at the thought that _this is it, he’s leaving. He’s going to town and he’s just saying this so I don’t make a fuss. He’s leaving_ now _and he’s not coming back._

Ozpin smiled and gestured for Oscar to join him, “Of course. Would you like to walk with me part of the way there?”

Oscar did. He walked with Ozpin for the better part of a mile down the hill before he elected to stop.

“I’ll be back, don’t worry.” Ozpin soothed, once again placing a hand on Oscar’s head and giving him a reassuring smile.

Oscar tried to put on a brave face as he began to walk away, not wanting to seem too clingy or as if he didn’t trust the man. Ozpin waved briefly back at him before turning away. Oscar stood among the rushing grasses, and watched his dark green cloak until it disappeared between the swells and folds of the base of the hill.

He stayed there for a short while longer, trying to soothe himself into believing that that wasn’t the last he was going to see of Ozpin.

The thrill of an albatross drew his attention to the sky. Wash circled overhead and Oscar waved. The bird had been still maintained watch, albeit at a slightly greater distance, since that day when Oscar found out about Oz. Oscar had apologized after he had made his way back to shore, and he was sure there were no hard feelings.

“Work as usual I guess.” Oscar muttered as we watched Wash circle twice more before looping lazily back to the top of the lighthouse.

It took far too short a time for Oscar to finish his chores.

He hadn’t realized it, but having another person around, having other things to do _,_ he could finally see just how much he had previously stretched out his chores to fill the passing days.

It felt as though no time at all had passed when he found himself staring into his quiet house, hands empty and chores done, and completely devoid of any idea of what he could do until Ozpin got back.

He shuffled his feet and looked around. When he actually stopped for a second it was easy for him to see how large an impact the strange man had had on his life. The cottage seemed, warmer. It was more lived in than it had been. Or perhaps it just took another person coming in and cleaning up for Oscar to realize how far he let his home dilapidate over the years. Because everywhere suddenly seemed more alive by the influence of a stranger. 

The area of the counter that Oz would lean against while nursing a cup of tea as Oscar cooked was swept clear of dust and had new nicks where Oz would tap the ring on his middle finger. The curtains were open, allowing sunlight to spill in and illuminate the soft motes of dust that drifted around. Bundles of herbs hung to dry from the tall rafters that Oscar couldn’t reach, filling the cottage with sweet smells. Baskets that had previously been strewn about, only moving when Oscar kicked them out of the way or picked one at random to use, were stacked away neatly. One sat by the door, filled with gleaming ivory seashells that he and Ozpin had collected during their numerous trips down to the beach to practice magic.

Oscar found himself smiling as his eyes traced over the lines of an orange olive shell that Ozpin had looked like he was going to cry over when he found it. He bent down, snatching up the small treasure and turned it over in his hands.

His mind wandered back to the image of Ozpin’s cloak disappearing.

He closed his fist over the shell and squeezed his eyes shut.

“He’ll be back.”

He winced as his voice echoed in his ears, sounding pitifully desperate in the empty silence of the cottage.

Oscar sighed, gently dropping the shell back into the basket before heading for the breezeway. He ascended the stairs of the lighthouse with practiced ease. On the landing he sat down, slotting his legs through the bars and leaning forward, watching the path that went to town.

“He’ll be back.” he repeated, quietly to himself.

The wind hummed around him noncommittally.

How long he sat there, he couldn’t have said. The sky shifted as wispy clouds blew in from the sea and before long he could feel the air take on the biting edge that signaled night was encroaching. He was starting to get worried, looking back and forth between the sky and the path. He should be back by now, right? Or at least headed back?

Oscar stood, casting one last long glance at the bottom of the hill. Still no sign of Ozpin. He sighed and descended the lighthouse. The least he could do was make sure the cottage was warm when Oz got back. Maybe he should make dinner. No, he didn’t know how late Oz would be; it would be dumb to make food and then have it cold if he got back later than Oscar thought.

Having something to do with his hands was a welcome reprieve from the anxiety he felt hissing through his gut. As soon as the fire was up and going, he snatched his lantern oil and rag and dashed back up to the landing.

The paling rays of sunlight flung themselves across the ocean and painted the waves silver as Oscar once again took up his post and did his job.

Oscar’s heart soared when finally, _finally,_ he saw the familiar silhouette of Ozpin’s dark green making its way up the hill. Oddly enough, there was a streak of purple at his side. He had brought someone back. Oscar scurried down the lighthouse stairs and emerged from the front of the house right as Ozpin and his mysterious companion crested the top of the hill.

“Oscar!” he waved him over before leaning over and muttering something to his companion.

It was the purple lady. Up close, she was just as beautiful and terrifying as Oscar imagined her. Her pale blonde hair was tied up and secured with a net of black pearls. Her layered winter dress was black with shiny golden buttons and a dark purple cloak hung around her shoulders. Two green jewels dangled from her ears and matched the color of her piercing gaze. The golden circlet that rested on her head glinted in the sun. Whether she was royalty or it was just ornamental, Oscar got the impression that this was a very important, high class person.

She had one arm wrapped loosely in Ozpin’s and her other carried a large basket covered by one of her signature purple kerchiefs. She gave a small smile as Oscar approached.

Ozpin seemed particularly eccentric when standing next to someone as poised as she. Suddenly his own regal demeanor was a little more airy and almost sloppy when compared to hers, which rested so naturally around her like a second cloak, “This is Glynda Goodwitch, an old associate of mine.”

“Ozpin please, after what we’ve been through together I should think I qualify as one of your friends.”

Ozpin chuckled, “Of course, and Glynda, this is my other friend, Oscar Pine.”

“Hello,” Oscar squeaked, “I like your hair.”

Her smile widened as her eyes caught Oscar’s scarf, “Thank you, Oscar. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I always try to catch you when I come up here, but I’m afraid I must have the most terrible timing because you’re never around.”

“Oh,” he had not been expecting that, “I’m sorry. I’m just uh, you know, always out and around.”

“No need to apologize, if anything that should be me. As hard as I try there’s always more work needing to be done that keeps me from coming up. Here,” she adjusted her hold on the basket and held it out to him, “I hope this can make up for my infrequencies.”

Oscar gathered the basket into his arms, sagging a little under the weight. It was _much_ heavier than the baskets she usually brought, “Thank you. I uh, really thank you. I really appreciate all the stuff you bring me.”

“It’s the least I can do. Fortunately, my evening is clear, if it’s quite alright with you, Oz has invited me to stay for dinner.”

“Yes!! I mean uh,” Oscar’s face burned as his gaze suddenly homed in on the small leaves embroidered along the edge of the kerchief, “yes, of course. We’re happy to have you Ms. Goodwitch.”

“Just Glynda is fine, thank you Oscar.”

Oscar raised his gaze to give her a nervous smile before quickly turning away, completely missing the fond smile Oz was giving him, “Well uh, house is this way. Obviously. I’ve got the fire going so just make yourself comfortable while I get something made.”

“Oh nonsense. I’ll cook.”

“Oh no! That’s alright you don’t ha-“

“I _insist._ ”

Oscar’s mouth snapped shut as any half formed protests died in his throat. Two words and her tone had told him all he needed to know. Glynda was cooking. Not up for debate.

Ozpin laughed as the three of them filed into the house, “My Glynda, I see time has not dulled that sharp charm you have about you.”

Glynda tsked and rolled her eyes but there was a soft smile on her face, “And I see that the passage of time has done little to your own boyish charm, Ozpin.”

“You flatter me Glynda, truly.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

The two giggled, actually _giggled,_ while Oscar placed the large basket gingerly on the table, nervously fiddling with the edge of the fabric.

“You can open it, I don’t mind. In fact, there’s some things in there I would like to use tonight.” Glynda took off her cloak and primly draped it over the back of one of the chairs. Oscar nodded and pulled off the cloth and started to sort through the basket.

“So Glynda,” he finally found his voice as his serves smoothed from the familiarity of the task, “how do you know Ozpin?”

Glynda smiled as she began to take a few things out of the basket herself and place them off to the side, “Oh now that is a story. Ozpin? would you like to take this one or shall I?”

Ozpin cringed and made a face that was very unOz-like, “Perhaps you should tell this story my friend. It always has more life to it when you do.”

Oscar’s curiosity was peaked, and he found himself enraptured as Glynda began to recount the tale of how a much younger, much spryer, Ozpin had actually broken into her uncle’s estate attempting to steal a magical item he had in his possession. Glynda had been staying there the summer, her parents gone on official business off shores, and magical or no, she was not trilled to find a trespasser falling down the chimney at the small hours of the morning.

Oscar laughed as she described the way Ozpin had crashed onto her floor, completely caught off guard by the protective charms that lay on the house, and at an utter loss as to how he had gone down the _wrong chimney._

The evening only got better, as Glynda made seasoned meats with a honey glaze and fried vegetables for dinner. Oscar stayed near her, watching in fascination as she cooked with such natural ease it almost looked like she was casting some elaborate spell.

Soon, the cottage was draped with the aroma of roasting herbs and vegetables and the air was rife with laughter and conversation.

“So wait,” Oscar was aware that he probably looked like a child with his mouth hanging open but he didn’t much care. Especially when compared to the bright red expression Ozpin was sporting, “you’re telling me Ozpin’s hair used to be dark? Ozpin’s??”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, he was considered quite the heart throb.” Glynda kicked Ozpin playfully under the table, “Sparkling dark eyes and swishy black hair, the young hearts of Vale at the time didn’t stand a chance.”

Ozpin pouted, putting down his fork and pinching a strand of his hair between his fingers to hold in front of his eyes for inspection, “You speak as though my days of beauty are behind me.”

“Of course not, Oz. Just that your days of being a roguish scoundrel, breaking hearts and laws with little regard for the strings attached to either, are. You’re still beautiful, just in a more,” she reached forward to lightly fluff up his hair, “mysterious and wise way now.”

Oz made another face, somewhere between skepticism and gracious fondness, and sighed, “Well, I suppose if _the_ Glynda Goodwitch says so, it must be true.”

“Of course.”

Oscar smiled and sipped his water, trying to imagine Oz with dark hair while he and Glynda continued their back and forth.

It was far too soon when Glynda pulled her cloak from the back of her hair and gracefully swung it over her shoulders. By this time, the food was long gone. As were the light, sugary pastries Glynda had brought and the tea that had been made to go with the unexpected deserts. She had stayed a little longer after that, insisting on helping with the dishes, but now it was dark and the night only ever aged. And as Oscar had picked up through their conversations, Glynda was a very busy woman.

She stood in the doorway, looking for all the world like a queen in Oscar’s humble little home, and he suddenly felt a great swell of affection and gratitude towards this woman.

“G-Glynda?” he cleared his throat which suddenly felt sticky, “I uh, thank you. Really. Thank you for everything. It’s because of you that,” he took a breath, “it’s just, you’re kindness has really helped me up here. And, I’m glad I got to meet you. And, if you want, you’re welcome here any time.”

Glynda smiled, “Of course, Oscar. I actually owe _you_ thanks as well. It’s because of you and your tireless efforts that many of my ships and their crews have been able to make it home time and time again. We’d be lost without you. Thank you.”

She opened her arms then and Oscar was grateful because he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from stepping forward and firmly wrapping his arms around her. She was tall, almost as tall as Ozpin, and her own hands came to rest between his shoulder blades as she gently returned the gesture. Her heavy purple cloak fell around the both of them and enveloped Oscar in a pleasant mist of vanilla and cinnamon.

When they pulled apart, Ozpin put a hand on Oscar’s shoulder, “I’m going to walk Glynda some of the way back. It won’t take long. Why don’t you finish cleaning up?”

Oscar nodded, his fingers nervously tracing over the cords of his braids, “Okay. Have a good evening Glynda. And be safe on your way back to town.”

“I will Oscar, thank you. Good night.”

With that, Ozpin and Glynda swept out of the door.

They walked in silence to the edge of the top of the hill and looked down at the town.

“You were right.” Glynda finally spoke, her voice soft, “he is an incredible young man. I am more ashamed now than before at my own complacency towards his situation.”

Ozpin hummed, a cold feeling settling in his gut. He’d asked around while he’d been out. Pretended to be a passing traveler, interested in the old structure at the top of the hill and any lore behind it. And the things he had heard. Whispers of curses and misfortune. Horrible rumors spun into a tale of the demon child of the lighthouse. And where there wasn’t fear or malice, there was apathy. This was just the ways things were. Why bother trying to fix something that wasn’t broken.

It made Ozpin’s heart ache, and his soul burn.

He grit his teeth and let out a breath, “It’s not your fault. You did what you could with what you had to spare. From you, your kindness was enough. From the town as a whole however,” he took another deep breath trying to quell the anger quickly bubbling up in his chest, “Let’s just say I have some choice words for them.”

“Well, keep them to yourself for the time being. From what you told me, you’re in enough hot water as it is. And the last thing you need right now is another name to add to your blacklist. Speaking of, what do you plan to do next? Knowing you, you’re already thinking about moving on.”

Ozpin chuckled, “You know me too well Glynda. But yes, I fear the day is quickly approaching when I’ll have to leave. I have a bad feeling that something is catching up with me again. Or someone. And I can’t let that happen. Especially not with Oscar around.”

“So you’re still going to take him with you then?”

“You ask that as though you don’t already know the answer,” Ozpin joked half-heartedly, “But yes, I intend on taking Oscar with me when I leave.”

“Does _he_ know this?”

Ozpin grew silent. The anger in his chest receded as it was quickly replaced with heavy apprehension. 

“Ozpin,” Glynda turned to him at his silence. Her eyes were hard and gleamed like polished stones in the moonlight, “you have to tell him. Give him the choice. I know you have your heart set on this, but you need to make sure his heart is in it too.”

“I know Glynda. I just,” Ozpin sighed and looked back towards the cottage. Past the orange glow of the windows, he could see Oscar’s shadow bustling around, “he’s so tied to this place. It isn’t _healthy;_ the way he grieves and resigns himself to this. He deserves to see the world, to have the chance to be more than what this town has convinced him he is.”

A firm hand landed on Ozpin’s shoulder, “On that, we can agree. But you can’t drag him kicking and screaming from his home. I know how you work. I know _you,_ Oz. And you can’t charm him into leaving with you. Literally or figuratively. No matter whether you think it’s for the best or not. If you truly want the best for this child, then place a little trust in him.”

Oz chuckled and folded his own hand over Glynda’s, “Trust, my dear friend, is in short supply these days.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Glynda shifted and Ozpin released her hand. She leaned up and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, “I have business to attend to in the city of Vale. I leave in one week. You and Oscar are welcome to ride with me there, at the very least you’ll be assured safe passage. I’ll wait for you until the bells go off at the docks at noon.”

“Thank you, Glynda. Truly.”

Glynda smiled, “Goodnight Ozpin. And remember,” she lightly poked his chest with her finger, “trust.”

***

When Ozpin stepped back into the cottage, he looked haggard. There was a distance in his gaze and a tight tilt to his mouth that made Oscar frown, “Is everything okay?”

Oz’s head snapped over to Oscar, who was standing in the kitchen, putting away the new cups that Ozpin had gotten while he was out, “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Goodbyes are just, rather difficult sometimes.”

Oscar’s face fell a little, “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry though, I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of Glynda very soon.” Ozpin moved towards his cloak and the knapsack that Oscar had lent him.

“I hope so! She was so nice.”

Ozpin chuckled, “’Nice’ is not a word I think I’ve ever heard anyone use to describe Glynda after a first meeting with her. But I suppose she softened up a little for you. Which reminds me,” Ozpin sat down at the table and gestured for Oscar to join him, placing the knapsack on his lap, “I got you something while I was out.”

Oscar’s face scrunched up in confusion, “You mean you got me more than just the new cups, tools, and blankets?”

“Yes. But I wanted to wait to give it to you so you didn’t feel overwhelmed.”

“This is already overwhelming for me,” Oscar admitted as he plopped down into his chair.

Ozpin smiled and pulled out his parcel and handed it across the table to Oscar who opened it with careful fingers.

The heavy fabric that spilled out to cover Oscar’s bare hands was a green. A shade much lighter than Ozpin’s own dark green cloak, and with a hint of a grey hue to it.

Eyes wide, Oscar stood, pulled at the fabric so it unfurled to its full length, “You got me, a cloak?”

“Of course. Think of it as a thank you, for being such a gracious host.”

Something flashed in Oscar’s eyes and his hands dropped slightly, “This isn’t a goodbye gift, is it?”

Oz waved a hand and scoffed, “Of course not. I just figured it would be rather prudent for you to have one of your own. Seeing as your own wardrobe consists of men’s clothing, I thought you might like something of your own.”

Oscar nodded and gingerly wrapped the cloak around his shoulders, fastening the swirling brooch. The fabric settled as a comforting weight around his shoulders and back. He craned his neck and could see that it reached to just brush the tops of his knees.

“Do you like it?” Ozpin rested his chin atop his folded fingers, pleased to see that the cloak wasn’t too big.

“I-“ the enormity of the gesture hit Oscar like a brick to the chest as he did a little turn in place, watching in fascination as the fabric billowed and flared around him. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes even as he felt like laughing.

He looked up only to see that the figure of Ozpin was a blurry smear in his vision and he smiled, knowing he would never be able to find the words to do his thanks justice. There was the sound of a chair scraping across the floor and the blur that was Oz moved to wrap Oscar in a warm embrace.

Neither of them said anything. Oscar didn’t cry. And he didn’t laugh. He just breathed and felt the comforting weight of the fabric on his back and the gentle hand holding his head, the thumb stroking behind his ear. There was familiarity in the gesture. And the distant memory of his mother’s kind face played at the edges of his mind.

The hand moved and Oscar felt a tug as Ozpin pulled out his hair tie and gently carded his fingers through his hair, pulling out the braids and settling the stray strands, “It’s late, why don’t we get you to bed?”

Oscar nodded into Ozpin’s chest and sniffed.

The arm wrapped around his shoulders squeezed before letting go. Oscar wiped his eyes and let out a quiet laugh, “Thanks, Oz. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you for this…”

“There’s no need. It’s my pleasure. Now, off to bed. Growing boys need their rest.”

Oscar nodded; he could hear the emotion in Oz’s voice and he knew he meant it. He also knew that he would probably actually burst into tears if he met the man’s gaze. So he didn’t. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor as he turned and headed for the stairs.

If he had looked up though, he would have seen that for the tears he hadn’t cried, Ozpin had shed many. But he didn’t. All he heard was the quiet, “Thank you, Oscar.” whispered as he disappeared up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m softe for Oscar and Glynda friendship that is all. Also take a shot every time someone says thank you in this chapter because I don’t know how to write apparently


	7. A Storm Upon the Hill

Morning dawned signaling the end of the second week since Oz’s appearance on the beach and his subsequent presence in Oscar’s life. And he was once again acting strangely.

Oscar would often catch Ozpin staring out the window down at Wind Path, deep in thought and subconsciously tracing strange lines in the air. He went to town more often too. Leaving the house early in the morning and then not appearing again until well into the afternoon. A couple times he had come back with a different face. It had given Oscar quite a fright the first time when a short man with dark skin and darker hair remarkably similar to Oscar’s own, had walked through his front door, until Ozpin had dropped the spell and become himself again.

He tried to put on a good air, claiming he was just getting a feel for the land and picking up supplies. But he always looked haggard when he came back. Worried.

Oscar wasn’t stupid. He could tell Ozpin was getting antsy.

Morning dawned signaling the end of the second week, and Oscar worked up the courage to ask Ozpin the very question he had been dreading all this time, “Do you want to leave?”

“What?” Oz seemed genuinely caught off guard, looking up from across the table where he had been winding new laces into his boots since his old ones had frayed so.

Oscar sat back and folded his arms over his chest to hide the slight tremor in his hands, “You’ve been here for weeks and I can’t imagine a guy like you doesn’t have things that need doing elsewhere. You’re perfectly healthy as far as I can tell, too. So, do you want to leave?”

“Are you kicking me out?” Oz chuckled but it didn’t match the uncertain tone in his voice. As though he was worried Oscar actually might.

“You still haven’t answered my question, but no. I’m not kicking you out. I’m just letting you know that,” Oscar’s gaze dropped to the floor along with his voice, “that you don’t have to stay out of pity for me. You can leave if you want to.”

“Oh Oscar. Is that really what you thought?”

Oscar was certain that was the only reason he stayed. It hadn’t gone under his notice, the sad looks the man gave him when he thought he wasn’t looking. How he always stayed close, even if he didn’t necessarily have to. He stared at a knot in the table waiting for whatever lecture or admonishment he had surely just prompted.

“Look at me please.”

Neck tense from gritting his teeth, he looked up and met Ozpin’s gaze.

“Oscar. I stay because I consider you my friend as well as my student, and I enjoy your company.” There was no pity in his voice. Only an earnest tenor of solicitude coated his words as he continued, “I stay because I want to. I don’t pity you for having lived here as the consequence of actions that were not your own; but I do wish for more for you.”

Oscar tilted his head, waiting for him to continue.

“I can leave if you want me to, but for now there are still some things I need to figure out before I go. So, if it’s alright with you, I will continue to stay here.”

Oscar clicked his teeth and mulled it over for a moment. He’d gotten to know the man fairly well, and in this matter, he could tell Oz had no underlying motives, “Yeah. Okay. If that’s the case, stay as long as you need.”

Oz smiled, his fingers had tangled themselves into a nervous knot as he continued to fiddle with his laces, “Thank you. I will do my best to ensure your hospitality and kindness is not displaced.”

***

Another morning came, this one draped in blanketing mists and Oscar came downstairs to find a glowing note inscribed into the table.

In Oz’s swirling handwriting it read,

_Oscar_

_Allow me to apologize in advance for suddenness of this particular errand. It came to me in the early hours that there is a matter of utmost importance that I must attend to immediately. As I write this, the sun has not yet breached the horizon and I won’t be long. Please make sure you eat a good warm breakfast; it’s rather chilly out today. And don’t forget to review what we learned yesterday._

_Regards_

_Ozpin_

Oscar let out a quiet huff and ran his hand over the letters, which disappeared with a dull hiss, “Wish he’d stop vandalizing the furniture on his way out.”

After making sure the table was clear of marks, Oscar was pleased to find that the woodstove was already stoked into a warm glow, and that the fireplace was similarly ready to burn with a neat stack of kindling next to it. It seemed as though Oz had taken the time to put some things in order before he left at least.

Oscar made himself breakfast, eating in silence, before checking on the light. The mist had dissipated a little as the sun had risen in the sky but it was still hazy out.

The sparkling dew weighed down the cuffs of his pants as he made his rounds through the garden.

Gradually the sun rose and dispelled the moisture in the air. Oz still wasn’t back by the time Oscar had finished. He didn’t think much of it. Despite not having anywhere to be, the man had proven himself to be anything but punctual.

Oscar decided to pass the time doing what Oz had said and reviewing what he had learned the day prior. Charm making. Actual charms too, not just Oscar’s temporary blessings. He gathered the leathers cords Oz had given him, along with some hag stones they’d found down at the beach together and a couple of Wash’s feathers, and sat at the table. Working carefully and thoughtfully, he tied the stones to the cords and braided in the feathers. The whole time he did so, the marks on his hands shifted as he poured his intent into the object.

At one point he opened the windows, finding that the interior of the house had become rather stifling. The spring breeze was refreshing as it washed over the back of his neck, filling the room with the sweet smell of the sea and wet grasses.

Finally, he held up his handiwork. It had a look to it that Oz might call rustic, and Oscar might call sloppy. But it was firm.

Hag stones for protection and good luck and albatross feathers that Oscar had deliberately subverted the meaning of. For this charm, they were for luck when traveling, and the release of past burdens.

He wanted to give it to Oz. Whenever Oz eventually did leave. Oscar wanted to give him something to remember him by. And maybe prevent him from ending up washed up on the shore again.

He tucked it onto the bookshelf between the collection other beach debris, praying that when the time came, it would work.

By now the day was half past and Oscar found himself worriedly staring at the path that led to town when he went up to check the light.

Oz had said he wouldn’t be long. Maybe it was just taking longer than he thought? He had mentioned it was a matter of importance…

Oscar tried to shake the anxiety he could feel starting to prickle along his skin. After yesterday’s conversation, Oscar felt somewhat more assured that Oz wouldn’t just take off without a proper goodbye and some prior notice.

It was only when the afternoon grew late and the horizon took on the glassy tint of pre dusk that he began to worry,

Oz had been gone all day.

Should he go looking for him?

No, going into town would be stupid. What if Oz came back while he was gone?

It wouldn’t be overbearing to go and wait for him a little ways down the hill, would it?

No, of course not. Oscar wrapped himself up in his scarf. Ozpin was probably just stiff and taking a while to get back. Especially with the chill that had been clinging to the air all day. He would probably appreciate having an extra pair of hands for the final leg of the journey.

Oscar nodded to himself, that sounded reasonable. He stepped out of the house.

And stopped dead.

There were people on the hilltop.

Several people.

Oscar counted six total, all draped in vibrantly colored fabrics with intricate buckles and layers. They held themselves with a definitive sense of purpose and each bore compact packs that were meant for travel.

These were not people from town. These were strangers.

A cold, clammy feeling seized the back of Oscar’s neck in a vice grip and held.

He stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Should he wait for Oz? Go back inside? Go out and greet them and see what it was that brought them here? A voice in his head that sounded remarkably like Ozpin whispered,

_These people bring no good tidings with them. Be on your guard; they are not to be treated lightly._

It was no use pretending no one was home, there was smoke coming out of the chimney. And even then, it was already too late. In the few moments Oscar had stood still in shock, one of the party noticed him. A hooded figure in green leaned forward and said something to a woman who was standing at the front of their group. The world seemed to drop from beneath him as she paused to listen, and then slowly turned towards him. She muttered something back to the green figure, who nodded, before lithely striding forwards. The rest of her followers hung back. Oscar took a few shaky steps away from the safety of his doorway to meet her a little less than halfway. This didn’t feel like a situation where he wanted his back to a wall.

Up close she was terrifying. Not regally terrifying, like Glynda had been. She was shorter than Glynda, but the shadow she cast was long as she towered over Oscar, malice billowing off her like curtain of smoke. It made Oscar’s throat close and his skin prickle when he stood this close to her. Her cloak was black as the soot in his fireplace and her dress was a deep shade of red that looked like it would be more at home in a ballroom, surrounded by the delicate glass and polished ivory words of a noble’s party. Not here on a dusty hilltop.

“Hello little one,” her voice was sickly sweet as she bent over, placing her hands on her knees to be at eye level with Oscar, “do you live here?”

Oscar nodded. Whatever was still gripping his neck held him in wordless fear.

She smiled at him. He supposed it was meant to look kind. But to him, she looked hungry. There was a sharp focus in her gaze. One that reflected the smooth surety found in the eyes of a predator.

“How quaint.” she straightened and looked around, her pointed gaze landing on the lighthouse as she seemingly noticed it for the first time.

“Strange, the light looks normal,” she maintained her false kindness. Her voice felt sticky as it filled Oscar’s head, making him want to scream because there was no way to escape what she said next, “The people in town said that about a week ago, this tower was glowing green. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

She turned back to him with an expectant smile.

Mustering all the courage he could Oscar shook his head, “N-no. I’m the only one who keeps the light going. It’s never done that. It's just me up here.”

It was a lie. Of course he knew. Ozpin had had to go up with Oscar to dispel his small bobble of green light that he’d used as a stand in the day of the incident at the cliff. Oscar had marveled at the little light, faceted like a fine jewel, that shone just as bright as any charmed flame he could conjure. 

The woman’s smile widened into something much more ravenous. Whatever game she was playing, there was no doubt in her mind that she had just won.

“Oh, that’s a shame. Myself and my companions had been so looking forwards to seeing such a _strange_ anomaly. Tell me then, has he left already?” with a subtle flourish, she pulled her left arm from beneath her cloak and placed it on her hip. Oscar gaped. From the tips of her fingers to just below her bare shoulder, her entire arm looked cracked and charred. Like the skin of the last logs of a fire that huddled together as embers against the onset of ash.

She was a magic user.

And she was looking for Ozpin.

That couldn’t be good.

“Has, uh- who left?”

“Don’t play games with me _boy,”_ in a second her voice became serrated like broken glass, “You _know_ who I’m looking for. Just as I know he was here. His magic has thickened the air here; infected this entire place.”

She squinted at Oscar, and the wicked smile that spread across her face made his stomach flip, “Why, it seems he’s even gotten you.”

She reached out a hand towards him and Oscar reflexively flinched back.

“Don’t be so jumpy. I’m not going to hurt you,” as she spoke the cracks on her arm filled with hot red light. Her smile widened as she and Oscar both saw the thin tendrils of gold and green appear around him; curling lazily off his clothes and skin in thready wisps, “Not when you’re so much more valuable to me _alive.”_

The words had barely registered for Oscar before she was lunging forward, hands twisted into grasping claws going for his neck and wrist. Oscar stumbled back, falling to the ground as her hands failed to find purchase on his suddenly slippery skin.

She sneered at him, holding his scarf in a bunch in her hand, “Ah, I see. So the Deceiver has taken on a pupil, hmm?”

Oscar was already off like a shot, scrambling to his feet and bolting in the opposite direction.

“How delightful,” the woman threw down his scarf as the rest of her group ran up behind her, “for him to have lingered here this long, that child must be of some consequence. Take him, _alive,_ and we shall see which face our wanderer has chosen to wear this time.” 

***

Oscar flew down the slopes.

Almost literally. He pooled magic into the balls of his feet and jumped, becoming airborne for a few short seconds as the hill dropped below him. His magic brought him down slowly enough that he could angle his body and jump again. He continued his strange little flying jumps down the treacherously shifting side of the hill. Behind him, he could hear people shouting and every now and then a bit of land to his left or right would swell and burst or explode outwards as his pursuers flung spells at him.

He wasn’t sure where he was going. He just knew he had to get away. Another spray of dirt came too close to comfort as stray granules got into his eye, making him stumble. There was no way he was going to get far with his assailants this close. He had to do something. Buy himself some time. Get far enough away that he wouldn’t have to engage them head on and stall until Ozpin came back to find him.

 _If_ Ozpin came back.

Oscar shook the damning notion from his mind. Now was not the time. He skidded to a halt, letting himself fall onto the slanted side of the hill and turning over so he was looking up and back.

He splayed his palms on the ground and sent a surge of magic into the dirt. The face of the hill shifted as deep ruts and sharp swells came into being. He watched for a moment as the wizards all stumbled, one of them falling into one of the ruts. It wasn’t much, but it would buy him some time. He sent one more, slightly weaker pulse into the earth and left the hill shifting behind him as he made his way towards the thicket of juniper trees he could see peeking out from behind a dune in the near distance.

Already he could feel his body failing him under the strain and he struggled to swallow his rising panic. He just needed to get somewhere safe. Ozpin would come for him. Oz wouldn’t abandon him to the machinations of these unknown adversaries.

He _had_ to believe that.

The concealing arms of the junipers reached out to him. He was so close. He knew these trees. He used to hide in them as a child, playing with his parents. There was safety tucked between their boughs.

The ground in front of him exploded, sending him sprawling backwards. He tumbled backwards and then forwards, shakily trying to gain footing and roll himself back onto his feet. In those few precious moments his window had closed as he quickly found himself facing his attackers head on.

The hillside erupted into a cacophony of light even as the sky continued to diminish. Great sprays of green and orange, clashing against plumes of blue, pink, green, and red until Oscar couldn’t tell if it was the sunset or the fight that tinted the sky.

 _Oz!_ he thought frantically as he continued to try and counter the attacks being flung at him, desperately praying that somehow the wizard would hear him. But his movement were lagged with panic. Fear squeezed his chest, and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He just tried to act but he was losing ground with every new onslaught.

_Oz where are you?! Please, please come back! I need you!_

He let out a cry as something that felt like lighting hit the back of his right shoulder and his body folded in on itself. His neck felt cold and prickled like it was covered in ice while his hands _burned._

_Please._

Tears streamed from his eyes as he gasped. He looked down to see that the marks on his hand weren’t their usual silvery green, but rather a violent purple that caught the light like metallic bruises.

_Don’t leave me._

But he had left.

The wizard was gone.

And Oscar was alone once again.

“Enough!” a woman’s voice cut through the haze of magic that had coated the area. The woman in red strode forward, her dark cloak billowing behind her like a sentient shadow, “Give up boy. You are outnumbered, and far past your limit. Just comply, help us get what we need, and this can be over.”

Blinking rapidly past the sweat and grime that ran into his eyes, Oscar put on his most defiant snarl. He was breathing too heavily to speak, but he hoped his stance was enough. He wasn’t backing down. Not this easy. Oz wouldn’t.

The woman sighed, tapping a finger against her cheek with a disappointed pout, “And here I thought you might have a little more sense than your mentor. But it seems the old fool is intent on passing on his legacy of madness to children now as well. Oh well,” she walked past Oscar with a dismissive wave of her hand, no longer addressing him, “finish this.”

Oscar might not have managed to take down any one of her people. There were too many, and he still too uncoordinated and unskilled to be able to truly knock any out of the fight. But he had managed to wear them down enough. Where they had previously looked at him with indifference, they now glared in annoyance. Clearly he had at least given some of them a hard time.

The woman was right though. He was at his limit. He faced the half circle of casters with what strength he had left, willing himself to keep fighting back. To hold out just a little longer. But his right arm had gone almost completely numb. And when he lifted his left it felt heavy. Like his blood had been replaced with cold, heavy lead. With every beat of his heart he could feel the lead spreading from his arm to his chest. It bleed through his ribs, only dragging his down further as his breathing hitched.

He had nothing left.

The lead worked its way into his heart, and he felt his whole body go cold and still.

Oscar hadn’t cried for his parents in a long time. In those moments, he almost did. But before he could, there was a noise that whirred and hummed like nothing he’d ever heard before immediately followed by a bright flash of emerald that had him throwing up his hands to shield his face.

It took a moment for his muddled brain to put the pieces of the scene in front of him together as be blinked away spots, the strange whirring sound still threading through his head. And then a moment more for him to comprehend what it was he actually saw.

There was Ozpin, Oscar’s green scarf wrapped wildly around his neck and sunglasses off. The gears in Ozpin’s eyes were turning so fast the grooves of the gears had melted into proper circles. A faint wisp of gold leaked from the larger gear like a thin flame. 

The relief that crashed through Oscar’s body was enough to make his legs drop from under him. He collapsed onto the ground, all too suddenly acutely aware of the fact that the only thing sustaining him was adrenaline. The edges of his vision turned grey as he struggled to keep himself upright, still wanting to help.

Ozpin didn’t seem to need it though. He twirled between his enemies with magically enhanced grace. His cane was a blur as he swung it with the skill of a swordsman, felling one foe after another with little effort.

Oscar heard something to his left and stiffly looked up. The woman in red was slowly becoming engulfed in whipping, angry flames. Her eyes burned like coals as she watched Ozpin take down the last of her entourage with a solid punch that sent the man tumbling down the hill.

She must’ve felt Oscar’s gaze, because her eyes snapped from Ozpin to him. Oscar’s heart sunk as the fire in her eyes sharpened into something molten and dangerous.

Her fury morphed into a sadistic sneer as she slammed her hands together before pulling them apart. A wicked, dark spear of cauterizing heat formed between her palms and she turned her gaze once more to Ozpin.

“So, the man of many faces decides to show his own at last.” she drawled.

Ozpin’s head snapped towards her as she twirled the spear before pointing it at him, “A shame, really. Here I was looking forwards to more of a challenge. All your tales of infamy and power, and what do I find? A coward,” she dramatically swung the spear so it was pointed at Oscar, never breaking eye contact with Oz, “and a child.”

Oz’s eyes flicked to Oscar. It was brief, barely more than a twitch, but it was enough for the woman’s sneer to twist with glee.

“I don’t believe _we_ are acquainted,” Ozpin’s voice was low and calm but the taught lines of his frame betrayed his barely concealed rage, “to whom do I have the pleasure of disappointing this time?”

The woman adjusted her grip on the spear, “I am the Devouring One. And the Witch of the Wells sends her regards.”

There was the briefest moment of calm as the woman let her words sink in before she suddenly lunged.

Oscar could do nothing as she sent her spear sailing straight for his chest. He heard a scream as his world became bright with heat. Then crackling green bloomed in his vision. The smell of something burning. A dull roar and the reverberations of his own name in his ears. And then everything faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me forever partially because it's the scene I've been looking forward to putting onto paper since coming with this au but also because real life is relentless and I've had zero free time. Anyways, I hope I did it justice and that you all liked it. Everyone wondering what kind of shit Oz is in? Here's your answer.


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